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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 









s* 


HELEN’S BABIES 




Copyright, 1921, by Frederick A. Stokes Company 


“ ‘THOSE ARE 


MY SISTER’S BEST CHILDREN IN THE 
WORLD, MISS MAYTON’ ” 


—Page 134 


HELEN’S BABIES 

WITH SOME ACCOUNT OF THEIR WAYS, INNO- 
CENT, CRAFTY, ANGELIC, IMPISH, WITCHING 
AND REPULSIVE. ALSO A PARTIAL RECORD OF 
THEIR ACTIONS DURING TEN DAYS OF THEIR 

EXISTENCE 

BY 

JOHN HABBERTON 

ILLUSTRATED IN COLOUR BY 
MARY La FETRA RUSSELL 




NEW YORK 

FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 



Copyright, for illustrations , 

1921 

Frederick A. Stokes Company 



§>CI.A624274 

SEP -3 71 




‘A man must be bolted and screwed to the 
community before he can work well for its 
advancement; and there are no such screws 
and bolts as children” 

— Henry Ward Beecher 


\ 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Budge and Toddie i 

II. At Dinner — and After 19 

III. Night — and Morning 37 

IV. My Bouquet, and What Became of 

It • . . . . 65 

V. What Happened in Church ... 89 

VI. On Sunday Afternoon 105 

VII. Our Visit, and What It Brought 

About 127 

VIII. Two Carriages and Their Occu- 

pants 149 

IX. A Rainy Day — the Morning . . 165 

X. A Rainy Day — the Afternoon . . 191 

XI. Sunshine 21 1 

XII. My Poetry! 231 

XIII. A “Terrible Child!” 247 


• • 
Vll 


*• 


. / 


\ 


s. 







LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


‘ ‘Those are my sister’s best children in the world, 

Miss Mayton’ ” Frontispiece 

FACING 

PAGE 

‘ ‘We want you to tell us stories’ ” . 28 

‘Mike handed me a letter and the identical box 
in which I had sent the flowers to Miss 
Mayton” 82 

‘ ‘Now, Uncle Harry, we’ll have the whistles, I 

guess’ ” 122 

‘Toddie began to trot around the room with the 
air of a man who intended to do his whole 
duty” 178 

‘My youngest nephew r strutting back and forth 

on the zinc roof” 200 

‘ ‘Azh wadiant azh ze matchless woze’ ” . . 244 

‘They got upon their hands and knees on the 

verandah and played bear” 270 


I 


HELEN’S BABIES 


CHAPTER I 

BUDGE AND TODDIE 

T HE first cause, so far as it can be 
determined, of the existence of this 
book may be found in the following 
letter, written by my only married sister, 
and received by me, Harry Burton, sales- 
man in a wholesale drapery house, bachelor, 
aged twenty-eight, and received just as I 
was trying to decide where I should spend 
a fortnight’s holidays: 

“Hillcrest, June 15, 1875. 
“Dear Harry, — Remembering that you 
are always complaining that you never have 
a chance to read, and knowing that you 


2 


HELEN’S BABIES 


won’t get it this summer, if you spend your 
holidays among people of your own set, I 
write to ask you to come up here. I admit 
that I am not wholly disinterested in invit- 
ing you. The truth is, Tom and I are in- 
vited to spend a fortnight with my old 
schoolmate, Alice Wayne, who, you know, 
is the dearest girl in the world, though you 
didn't obey me and marry her before Frank 
Wayne appeared. Well, we’re dying to go, 
for Alice and Frank live in splendid style; 
but, as they haven’t included our children 
in their invitation, and have no children of 
their own, we must leave Budge and Tod- 
die at home. Fve no doubt they’ll be per- 
fectly safe, for my girl is a jewel, and 
devoted to the children, but I would feel 
a great deal easier if there was a man in 
the house. Besides, there’s the silver, and 
burglars are less likely to break into a 
house when there’s a savage-looking man. 
(Never mind about thanking me for the 
compliment.) If you'll only come up, my 
mind will be completely at rest. The chil- 


BUDGE AND TODDIE 


3 

dren won’t give you the slightest trouble; 
they’re the best children in the world — 
everybody says so. 

“Torn has plenty of cigars, I know, for 
the money I should have had for a new suit 
went to pay his cigar man. He has some 
new claret, too, that he goes into ecstasies 
over, though I can’t tell it from the vilest 
black ink, except by the colour. Our horses 
are in splendid condition, and so is the 
garden^ — you see I don’t forget your old 
passion for flowers. And, last and best, 
there never were so many handsome girls 
at Hillcrest as there are among the summer 
visitors lately arrived here; the girls you 
are already acquainted with here will see 
that you are duly introduced to all the 
newer acquisitions. 

“Reply directly by telegraph. Of course 
you’ll say, ‘Yes.’ 

“In great haste, your loving sister, 

“Helen. 

“P.S. — You shall have our own cham- 
ber; it catches every breeze, and commands 


HELEN’S BABIES 


4 

the finest views. The children’s room com- 
municates with it: so, if anything should 
happen to the darlings at night, you’d be 
sure to hear them.” 

“Just the thing!” I ejaculated. Five 
minutes later I had telegraphed Helen my 
acceptance of her invitation and had men- 
tally selected books enough to busy me 
during a dozen years’ holidays. Without 
sharing Helen’s belief that her boys were 
the best ones in the world, I knew them 
well enough to feel assured that they would 
not give me any annoyance. There were 
two of them, since Baby Phil died last fall ; 
Budge, the elder, was five years of age, and 
had generally during my flying visits to 
Helen, worn a shy, serious, meditative, 
noble face, with great, pure, penetrating 
eyes, that made me almost fear their stare. 
Tom declared he was a born philanthropist 
or prophet, and Helen made so free with 
Miss Muloch’s lines as to sing: — 


BUDGE AND TODDIE 


5 


“Ah, the day that thou goest a wooing, 

Budgie, my boy!” 

Toddie had seen but three summers, and 
was a happy little know-nothing, with a 
head full of tangled yellow hair, and a very 
pretty fancy for finding out sunbeams and 
dancing in them. I had long envied Tom 
his horses, his garden, his house and his 
location, and the idea of controlling them 
for a fortnight was particularly delightful. 
Tom’s taste in cigars and claret I had 
always respected, while the lady inhab- 
itants of Hillcrest were, according to my 
memory, much like those of every other 
country village — the fairest of their sex. 

Three days later I made the hour and a 
half trip between New York and Hillcrest, 
and hired a chaise to take me over to 
Tom’s. Half a mile from my brother-in- 
law’s residence our horses shied violently, 
and the driver, after speaking pretty freely 
to them, turned to me and remarked* 
“That was one of the Imps.” 

“What was?” I asked. 


6 


HELEN’S BABIES 


“That little beggar that scared the hosses. 
There he is, now, holdin’ up that piece of 
brushwood. ’Twould be just like his cheek, 
now, to ask me to let him ride. Here he 
comes, runnin’. Wonder where t’other is? 
— they most generally go together. We 
call them the Imps, about these parts, 
because they’re so uncommon apt at mis- 
chief. Always skeerin’ hosses, or chasin’ 
cows, or frightenin’ chickens. Nice enough 
father and mother, too — queer, how young 
’uns do turn outF’ 

As he spoke, the offending youth came 
panting beside our carriage, and in a 
very dirty sailor-suit, and under a broad- 
brimmed straw hat, with one stocking about 
his ankle, and two boots averaging about 
two buttons each, I recognised my nephew, 
Budge! About the same time there 
emerged from the bushes by the roadside 
a smaller boy, in a green gingham dress, a 
ruffle which might once have been white, 
dirty stockings, blue slippers worn through 


BUDGE AND TODDIE 


7 


at the toes, and an old-fashioned straw 
turban. Thrusting into the dust of the 
road a branch from a bush, and shouting, 
“Here’s my grass-cutter!” he ran towards 
us enveloped in a cloud which rendered 
him well-nigh invisible. When he paused, 
and the dust had somewhat subsided, I 
beheld the unmistakable lineaments of the 
child, Toddie! 

“They’re — my nephews,” I gasped. 
“What!” exclaimed the driver. “By 
Jingo! I forgot you were going to Colonel 
Lawrence’s! I didn’t tell anything but the 
truth about ’em, though, they're sharp, and 
good enough, as boys go; but they’ll never 
die of the complaint that children has in 
Sunday-school books.” 

“Budge,” said I, with all the sternness 
I could command, “do you know me?” 

The searching eyes of the embryo prophet 
and philanthropist scanned me for a 
moment, then their owner replied: 

“Yes, you’re Uncle Harry. Did you 
bring us anything?” 


8 


HELEN’S BABIES 


“Bring us anything?” echoed Toddie. 

“I wish I could have brought you some 
big whippings,” said I, with great severity 
of manner, “for behaving so badly. Get 
into this carriage.” 

“Come on, Tod,” shouted Budge, al- 
though Toddie’s farther ear was not a yard 
from Budge’s mouth. “Uncle Harry’s 
going to take us for a ride!” 

“Going to take us for a ride,” echoed 
Toddie, with the air of one in a reverie; 
both the echo and the reverie I soon learned 
were characteristics of Toddie. 

As they clambered into the carriage, I 
noticed that each one carried a very dirty 
towel, knotted in the centre into what is 
known as a slip-noose knot, drawn very 
tight. After some moments of disgusted 
contemplation of these rags, without being 
in the least able to comprehend their pur- 
pose, I asked Budge what those towels 
were for. 

“They’re not towels — they’re dollies,” 
promptly answered my nephew. 


BUDGE AND TODDIE 


9 

“Goodness!” I exclaimed, “I should think 
your mother could buy you respectable 
dolls, and not let you appear in public with 
those loathsome rags.” 

“We don’t like buyed dollies,” exclaimed 
Budge. 

“These dollies is lovely; mine’s name is 
Mary, an’ Toddie’s is Marfa.” 

“Marfa?” I queried. 

“Yes; don’t you know about 

“Marfa and Mary ’s jus’ gone along 
To ring dem charming bells, 

that them Jubilees sings about?” 

“Oh, Martha, you mean?” 

“Yes, Marfa — that’s what I say. Toddie’s 
dolly’s got brown eyes, an’ my dolly’s got 
blue eyes.” 

“I want to shee yours watch,” remarked 
Toddie, snatching at my chain, and rolling 
into my lap. 

“Oh — oo — ee, so do I,” shouted Budge, 
hastening to occupy one knee, and in 
transitu wiping his shoes on my trousers 


IO 


HELEN’S BABIES 


and the skirts of my coat. Each imp put 
an arm about me to steady himself, as I 
produced my sixty-guinea time-keeper, and 
showed them the dial. 

“I want to see the wheels go round,” said 
Budge. 

“Want to shee wheels go wound,” echoed 
Toddie. 

“No; I can’t open my watch where 
there’s so much dust,” I said. 

“What for?” inquired Budge. 

“Want to shee the wheels go wound,” 
repeated Toddie. 

“The dust gets inside the watch and 
spoils it,” I explained. 

“Want to shee the wheels go wound,” 
said Toddie, once more. 

“I tell you I can’t, Toddie,” said I 
with considerable asperity. “Dust spoils 
watches.” 

The innocent grey eyes looked up won- 
deringly, the dirty but pretty lips parted 
slightly, and Toddie murmured: 

“Want to shee the wheels go wound.” 


BUDGE AND TODDlE 


i i 


I abruptly closed my watch, and put it 
into my pocket. Instantly Toddie’s lower 
lip commenced to turn outward, and con- 
tinued to do so until I seriously feared the 
bony portion of his chin would be exposed 
to view. Then his lower jaw dropped, and 
he cried: 

“Ah — h — h — h — h — h — h — want — to — 

shee — the wheels go wou — ound .” 

“Charles'’ (Charles is his baptismal 
name), — “Charles,” I exclaimed with some 
anger, “stop that noise this instant! Do 
you hear me?” 

“ Y es — oo — oo — oo — ahoo — ahoo.” 

“Then stop it.” 

“Wants to shee ” 

“Toddie, I’ve got some candy in my 
trunk, but I won’t give you a bit if you 
don’t stop that abominable noise.” 

“Well, I wants to shee wheels go wound. 
Ah — ah — h — h — h — h !” 

“Toddie, dear, don’t cry so. Here’s some 
ladies coming in a carriage; you wouldn’t 
let them see you crying, would you? You 


12 


HELEN’S BABIES 


shall see the wheels go round as soon as 
we get home.” 

A carriage containing a couple of ladies 
was rapidly approaching, as Tod.die again 
raised his voice. 

“Ah — h— h — wants to shee wheels ” 

Madly I snatched my watch from my 
pocket, opened the case, and exposed the 
works to view. The other carriage was 
meeting ours, and I dropped my head to 
avoid meeting the glance of the unknown 
occupants, for my few moments of contact 
with my dreadful nephews had made me 
feel inexpressibly untidy. Suddenly the 
carriage with the ladies stopped. I heard 
my own name spoken, and raising my head 
quickly (encountering Budge’s bullet head 
en route , to the serious disarrangement of 
my hat) I looked into the other carriage. 
There, erect, fresh, neat, composed, bright- 
eyed, fair-faced, smiling, and observant, sat 
Miss Alice Mayton, a lady who, for about 
a year, I had been adoring from afar. 

“When did you arrive, Mr. Burton?” 


BUDGE AND TODD] E 


i3 


she asked, ‘‘and how long have you been 
officiating as child’s companion? You’re 
certainly a happy-looking trio — so uncon- 
ventional. I hate to see children all dressed 
up and stiff as little mannikins, when they 
go out to ride. And you look as if you’d 
been enjoying yourself so much with them.” 

“I — I assure you, Miss Mayton,” said I, 
“that my experience has been the exact 
reverse of a pleasant one. If I happened 
to know any disappointed vivisectionist, 
who could get nothing more lively than a 
‘subject’ whereon to slake his thirst for 
knowledge, I’d volunteer as a body-snatch- 
er, and engage to deliver two interesting 
corpses at a moment’s notice.” 

“You dreadful wretch!” exclaimed the 
lady. “Mother, let me make you ac- 
quainted with Mr. Burton — Helen Law- 
rence’s brother. How is your sister, Mr. 
Burton? 

“I don’t know,” I replied; “she has gone 
with her husband on a fortnight’s visit to 
Captain and Mrs. Wayne, and I’ve been 


H 


HELEN’S BABIES 


silly enough to promise to have an eye to 
the place while they’re away.” 

“Why, how delightful!” exclaimed Miss 
Mayton. “Such horses! Such flowers! 
Suck a cook!” 

“And such children!” said I, glaring 
suggestively at the imps, and rescuing from 
Toddie a handkerchief which he had ex- 
tracted from my pocket, and was waving 
to the breeze. 

“Why, they’re the best children in the 
world. Helen told me so the first time I 
met her this season. Children will be chil- 
dren, you know. We had three little 
cousins with us last summer, and I’m sure 
they made me look years older than I 
really am.” 

“How young you must be then, Miss 
Mayton!” said I. I suppose I looked at 
her as if I meant what I said, for, although 
she inclined her head and said, “Oh, thank 
you,” she didn't seem to turn my compli- 
ment off in her usual invulnerable style. 
Nothing happening in the course of con- 


BUDGE AND TODDIE 15 

versation ever discomposed Alice Mayton 
for more than a hundred seconds, however, 
so she soon recovered her usual expression 
and self-command, as her next remark 
fully indicated. 

“I believe you arranged the floral deco- 
rations at the St. Zephaniah’s Bazaar, last 
winter, Mr. Burton? ’Twas the most taste- 
ful display of the season. I don’t wish to 
give any hints, but at Mrs. Clarkson’s, 
where we’re staying, there’s not a flower in 
the whole garden. I break the tenth com- 
mandment dreadfully every time I pass 
Colonel Lawrence’s garden. Good-bye, 
Mr. Burton.” 

“Ah, thank you; I shall be delighted. 
Good-bye.” 

“Of course you’ll call,” said Miss May- 
ton, as her carriage started — “it’s dread- 
fully stupid here — no men except on 
Sundays.” 

I bowed assent. In the contemplation of 
all the shy possibilities which my short chat 
with Miss Mayton had suggested, I had 


i*6 


HELEN’S BABIES 


quite forgotten my dusty clothing and the 
two living causes thereof. While in Miss 
Mayton’s presence the imps had preserved 
perfect silence, but now their tongues were 
loosened. 

“Uncle Harry,” said Budge, “do you 
know how to make whistles?” 

% 

“Ucken Hawwy,” murmured Toddie, 
“does you love dat lady?” 

“No, Toddie, of course not.” 

“Then you’s baddy man, an’ de Lord 
won’t let you go to heaven if you don’t 
love peoples.” 

“Yes, Budge,” I answered hastily, “I do 
know how to make whistles, and you shall 
have one.” 

“Lord don’t like mans what don’t love 
peoples,” reiterated Toddie. 

“All right, Toddie,” said I. “I’ll see if 
I can’t make it all right some way. Driver, 
get along as fast as you can. I’m in a hurry 
to turn these youngsters over to the girl, 
and ask her to drop them into the bath-tub.” 

I found Helen had made every possible 


BUDGE AND TODDIE 


i7 


arrangement for my comfort. Her room 
commanded exquisite views of mountain- 
slope and valley, and even the fact that the 
imps’ bedroom adjoined mine gave me 
comfort, for I thought of the pleasure of 
contemplating them while they were asleep, 
and beyond the power of tormenting their 
deluded uncle. 



CHAPTER II 


AT DINNER— AND AFTER 


CHAPTER II 


AT DINNER — AND AFTER 

A T the dinner-table Budge and Tod- 
die appeared cleanly clothed and 
in their rightful faces. Budge 
seated himself at the table; Toddie pushed 
back his high chair, climbed into it, and 
shouted : 

“Put my legs under ze tabo.” 

Rightfully construing this remark as a 
request to.be moved to the table, I fulfilled 
his desire. The girl poured out wine for 
me and some water for the children, and 
retired; and then I remembered, to my 
dismay, that Helen never had a servant in 
the dining-room except upon grand occa- 
sions, her idea being that servants retail to 
their friends the cream of the private con- 
versation of the family circle. In principle 
I agreed with her, but the penalty of the 


22 


HELEN’S BABIES 


practical application, with these two little 
cormorants on my hands, was greater suf- 
fering than any I had ever been called 
upon to endure for principle’s sake; but 
there was no help for it. I resignedly 
rapped on the table, bowed my head, said, 
“For what we are about to receive, the 
Lord make us thankful,” and asked Budge 
whether he would have bread or biscuit. 

“Why, we ain’t asked no blessin’ yet,” 
said he. 

“Yes, I did, Budge,” said I. “Didn’t 
you hear me?” 

“Do you mean what you said just now?” 

“Yes.” 

“Oh, I don’t think that was no blessing 
at all. Papa never says that kind of a 
blessin’.” 

“What does Papa say, may I ask?” I 
inquired, with becoming meekness. 

“Why, papa says, ‘Our Father, we thank 
thee for this food; mercifully remember 
with us all the hungry and needy to-day, 


AT DINNER— AND AFTER 23 

for Christ’s sake, Amen.’ That’s what he 
says.” 

“It means the same thing, Budge.” 

U I don’t think it does; and Toddie didn’t 
have no time to say his blessin’. I don’t 
think the Lord’ll like it if you do it that 
way.” 

“Yes, He will, old boy; He knows what 
people mean.” 

“Well, how can He tell what Toddie 
means if Toddie can’t say anything?” 

“Wantsh to shay my blessin’,” whined 
Toddy. 

It was enough; my single encounter with 
Toddie had taught me to respect the young 
gentleman’s force of character. So again 
I bowed my head, and repeated what 
Budge had reported as “papa’s blessin’,” 
Budge kindly prompting me where my 
memory failed. The moment I began, 
Toddie commenced to jabber rapidly and 
aloud, and the instant the “Amen” was pro- 
nounced he raised his head and remarked, 
with evident satisfaction: 


24 


HELEN’S BABIES 


“I shed my blessin’ tavo timesh.” 

And Budge said gravely: 

“ Now I think we’re all right.” 

The dinner was an exquisite one, but the 
appetites of those dreadful children effec- 
tually prevented my enjoying the repast. 
I hastily retired, called the girl, and 
instructed her to see that the children had 
enough to eat, and were put to bed imme- 
diately after; then I lit a cigar and strolled 
into the garden. The roses were just in 
bloom, the air was full of the perfume of 
honeysuckles, the rhododendrons had not 
disappeared, while I saw promise of the 
early unfolding of many other pet flowers 
of mine. I confess that I took a careful 
survey of the garden, to see how fine a 
bouquet I might make for Miss Mayton, 
and was so abundantly satisfied with the 
material before me that I longed to begin 
the work at once, but that it would seem 
too hasty for true gentility. So I paced 
the paths, my hands behind my back, and 
my face well hidden by fragrant clouds of 


AT DINNER— AND AFTER 25 

smoke, and went into wondering and rev- 
eries. I wondered if there was any sense 
in the language of flowers, of which I had 
occasionally seen mention made by silly 
writers; I wished I had learned it if it had 
any meaning; I wondered if Miss Mayton 
understood it. At any rate, I fancied I 
could arrange flowers to the taste of any 
lady whose face I had ever seen; and for 
Alice Mayton I would make something so 
superb that her face could not help light- 
ing up when she beheld it. I imagined 
just how her bluish-grey eyes would bright- 
en, her cheeks would redden, — not with 
sentiment, not a bit of it; but with genuine 
pleasure, — how her strong lips would part 
slightly and disclose sweet lines not dis- 
played when she held her features well in 
hand. I — I, a clear-headed, driving, suc- 
cessful man of business — actually wished I 
might be divested of all nineteenth-century 
abilities and characteristics, and be one of 
those fairies that only silly girls and crazy 
poets think of, and might, unseen, behold 


26 


HELEN’S BABIES 


the meeting of my flowers with this highly 
cultivated specimen of the only sort of 
flowers our cities produce. What flower 
did she most resemble? A lily? — no; too 
— not exactly too bold, but too — too, well, 
I couldn’t think of the word, but clearly it 
wasn’t bold. A rose! Certainly, not like 
those glorious but blazing climbers, nor 
yet like the shy, delicate, ethereal tea-roses 
with their tender suggestions of colour. 
Like this perfect Gloire de Dijon, perhaps; 
strong, vigorous, self-asserting, among its 
more delicate sisterhood; yet shapely, per- 
fect in outline and development, exquisite, 
enchanting in its never fully analyzed tints, 
yet compelling the admiration of every one, 
and recalling its admirers again and again 
by the unspoken appeal of its own perfec- 
tion — its unvarying radiance. 

“Ah — h — h — h — ee — ee — ee — ee — ee — oo 
— oo — oo — oo — oo !” came from the win- 
dow over my head. Then came a shout 
of — “Uncle Harry!” in a voice I recog- 
nized as that of Budge. I made no reply: 


AT DINNER— AND AFTER 27 

there are moments when the soul is full of 
utterances unfit to be heard by childish 
ears. “Uncle Har -ray!” repeated Budge. 
Then I heard a window-blind drawn up, 
and Budge exclaiming: 

“Uncle Harry, we want you to come and 
tell us stories.” I turned my eyes upward 
quickly, and was about to send a savage 
negative in the same direction, when I saw 
in the window a face unknown and yet 
remembered. Could those great, wistful 
eyes, that angelic mouth, that spiritual 
expression, belong to my nephew Budge? 
Yes, it must be — certainly that superceles- 
tial nose and those enormous ears never 
belonged to any one else. I turned abrupt- 
ly, and entered the house, and was received 
at the head of the stairs by two little 
figures in white, the larger of which 
remarked : 

“We want you to tell us stories — papa 
always does at nights.” 

“Very well, jump into bed — what kind 
of stories do you like?” 


28 


HELEN’S BABIES 


“Oh, ’bout Jonah,” said Budge. 

“ ’Bout Jonah,” echoed Toddie. 

“Well, Jonah was out in the sun one day, 
and a gourd-vine grew up all of a sudden, 
and made it nice and shady for him, and 
then it all faded as quick as it came.” 

A dead silence prevailed for a moment, 
and then Budge indignantly remarked: 
“That ain’t Jonah a bit — I know ’bout 
Jonah.” 

“Oh, you do, do you?” said I. “Then 
maybe you’ll be so good as to enlighten 
me?” 

“Huh?” 

“If you know about Jonah, tell me the 
story; I’d really enjoy listening to it.” 
“Well,” said Budge, “once upon a time 
the Lord told Jonah to go to Nineveh and 
tell the people they was all bad. But 
Jonah didn’t want to go, so he w T ent on a 
boat that was going to Joppa. And then 
there was a big storm, an’ it rained an’ 
blowed and the big waves went as high as 
a house. An’ the sailors thought there must 





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WWSm 

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Stokes Company 


by Frederick A. 

WANT YOU 


TO TELL US STORIES 






AT DINNER— AND AFTER 29 

be somebody on the boat that the Lord 

didn’t like. An’ Jonah said he thought he 

\ 

was the man. So they picked him up and 
froed him in the ocean an’ I don’t think 
it was well for ’em to do that after Jonah 
told the troof. An’ a big whale was cornin’ 
along, an’ he was awful hungry, cos the 
little fishes what he likes to eat all went 
down to the bottom of the ocean when it 
began to storm, an’ whales can’t go to the 
bottom of the ocean, cos they have to come 
up to breeve, an’ little fishes don’t. An’ 
Jonah found ’twas all dark inside the 
whale, and there wasn’t any fire there, an’ 
it was all wet, and he couldn’t take off his 
clothes to dry, cos there wasn’t no place to 
hang ’em, an’ there wasn’t no windows to 
look out of, nor nothin’ to eat, nor nothin’, 
nor nothin’, nor nothin’. So he asked the 
Lord to let him out, an’ the Lord was sorry 
for him, an’ He made the whale go up 
close to the land, an’ Jonah jumped right 
out of his mouth, an’ wasn’t he glad? An’ 
then he went to Nineveh, and did what the 


30 


HELEN’S BABIES 


Lord told him to, and what he ought to 
have done in the first place if he had known 
what was good for him.” 

“Done first payshe, know what’s dood for 
him,” asserted Toddie, in support of his 
brother’s assertion. “Tell us ’nudder story.” 

“Oh, no, sing us a song,” suggested 
Budge. 

“Shing us shong,” echoed Toddie. 

I searched my mind for a song, but the 
only one which came promptly was “M’ 
Appari,” several bars of which I gave my 
juvenile audience, when Budge interrupted 
me, saying: 

“I don’t think that’s a very good song.” 

“Why not, Budge?” 

“Cos I don’t. I don’t know a word what 
you’re talking about.” 

“Shing ’bout ‘Gory, gory, hallelooyah,’ ” 
suggested Toddie. 

I meekly obeyed. The old air has a 
wonderful influence over me. I heard it 
often in western camp meetings and negro 
cabins when I was a boy; and since that 


AT DINNER— AND AFTER 31 

time I have heard it sung in many places 
under widely different circumstances, each 
and all of which it tends to recall to remem- 
brance. All these recollections came hurry- 
ing into my mind as I sang, and probably 
excited me beyond my knowledge, for 
Budge suddenly remarked: 

“Don’t sing that all day, Uncle Harry; 
you sing so loud, it hurts my head.” 

“Beg your pardon, Budge,” said I. 
“Good-night.” 

“Why, Uncle Harry, are you going? You 
didn’t hear us say our prayers — papa al- 
ways does.” 

“Oh! Well, go ahead.” 

“You must say yours first,” said Budge; 
“that’s the way papa does.” 

“Very well,” said I, and I repeated St. 
Chrysostom’s prayer, from the Church 
Service. I had hardly said “Amen” when 
Budge remarked: 

“My papa don’t say any of those things 
at all; I don’t think that’s a very good 
prayer,” 


32 


HELEN’S BABIES 


“Well, you say a good prayer, Budge.” 
“All right.” Budge shut his eyes, 
dropped his voice to the most perfect tone 
of supplication, while his face seemed fit 
for a sleeping angel; then he said: 

“Dear Lord, we thank you for lettin’ us 
have a happy time to-day, an’ we hope all 
the little boys everywhere have had happy 
times too. We pray you to take care of us 
an 1 everybody else to-night, an’ don’t let 
’em have any trouble. Oh, yes, an’ Uncle 
Harry’s got some candy in his trunk, cos 
he said so in the carriage, — we thank you 
for lettin’ Uncle Harry come to see us, an’ 
we hope he’s got lots of candy — lots and 
piles. An’ we pray you to take good care 
of all the poor little boys and girls that 
haven’t got any papas an’ mammas an’ 
Uncle Harrys an’ candy an’ beds to sleep 
in. An’ take us all to Heaven when we 
die, for Christ’s sake. Amen. Now give 
us the candy, Uncle Harry.” 

“Hush, Budge; doesn’t Toddie say any 
prayers?” 


AT DINNER— AND AFTER 33 

“Oh, yes; go on, Todd.” 

Toddie closed his eyes, wriggled, twisted, 
breathed hard and quick, acting generally 
as if prayers were principally a matter of 
physical exertion. At last he began: 

“Dee Lord, not make me sho bad, an’ 
besh mamma an’ papa, an’ Budgie, and 
doppity,* an’ both boggies,t an’ all good 
people in dish house, and everybody else, 
an’ my dolly. A — a — men!” 

“Now give us the candy,” said Budge, 
with the usual echo from Toddie. 

1 

I hastily extracted the candy from my 
trunk, gave some to each boy, the recipients 
fairly shrieking with delight, and once 
more said good-night. 

“Oh, you didn’t give us any pennies,” 
said Budge. “Papa gives us some to put 
in our banks, every night.” 

“Well, I haven’t got any now — wait until 
to-morrow.” 

“Then we want drinks.” 

“I’ll let Maggie bring you some.” 

t Grandmothers. 


* Grandfather. 


34 


HELEN’S BABIES 


“Want my dolly,” murmured Toddie. 

I found the knotted towels, took the dirty 
things up gingerly and threw them on the 
bed. 

“Now want to see wheels go wound,” 
said Toddie. 

I hurried out of the room and slammed 
the door. I looked at my watch — it was 
half-past eight;- 1 had spent an hour and a 
half with those dreadful children. They 
were funny, to be sure — I found myself 
laughing in spite of my indignation. Still, 
if they were to monopolize my time as they 
had already done, when was I to do my 
reading? Taking Fiske’s “Cosmic Phil- 
osophy” from my trunk, I descended to the 
back parlour, lit a cigar and a student- 
lamp, and began to read. I had not fairly 
commenced when I heard a patter of small 
feet, and saw my elder nephew before me. 
There was sorrowful protestation in every 
line of his countenance, as he exclaimed: 
“You didn’t say ‘Good-bye’ nor ‘God bless 
you,’ nor anything.” 


AT DINNER— AND AFTER 35 


“Oh — good-bye.” 

“Good-bye.” 

“God bless you.” 

“God bless you.” 

Budge seemed waiting for something 
else. At last he said: 

“Papa says, ‘God bless everybody.’ ” 
“Well, God bless everybody.” 

“God bless everybody,” responded 
Budge, and turned silently and went up- 
stairs. 

“Bless your tormenting, honest little 
heart,” I said to myself; “if men trusted 
God as you do your papa, how little busi- 
ness there’d be for preachers to do.” 




CHAPTER III 


NIGHT— AND MORNING 


CHAPTER III 


NIGHT — AND MORNING 

T HE night was a perfect one. The 
pure, fresh air, the perfume of 
the flowers, the music of the insect 
choir in the trees and shrubbery — the very 
season itself seemed to forbid my reading 
philosophy, so I laid Fiske aside, delighted 
myself with a few rare bits from Paul 
Hayne’s new volume of poems, read a few 
chapters of “One Summer,” and finally 
sauntered off to bed. My nephews were 
slumbering sweetly; it seemed impossible 
that the pure, exquisite, angelic faces be- 
fore me belonged to my tormentors of a 
few hours before. As I lay on my couch 
I could see the dark shadow and rugged 
crest of the mountain; above it, the silver 
stars against the blue, and below it the 
rival lights of the fire-flies against the dark 


39 


40 


HELEN’S BABIES 


background formed by the mountain itself. 
No rumbling of wheels tormented me, nor 
any of the thousand noises that fill city air 
with the spirit of unrest, and I fell into a 
wonder almost indignant that sensible, 
comfort-loving beings could live in hor- 
rible New York, while such delightful 
rural homes were so near at hand. Then 
Alice Mayton came into my mind, and then 
a customer; later, stars, and trade-marks, 
and bouquets, and dirty nephews, and fire- 
flies, and bad accounts, and railway tickets, 
and candy, and Herbert Spencer, mixed 
themselves confusingly in my mind. Then 
a vision of a proud angel, in the most 
fashionable attire and a modern carriage, 
came and banished them all by its perfect 
radiance, and I was sinking in the most 
blissful unconsciousness — 

“Ah — h — h — h — h — h — oo — oo — oo — oo 

— ee — ee ” 

“Sh — h — h!” I hissed. 

The warning was heeded, and I soon 
relapsed into oblivion. 


NIGHT— AND MORNING 41 

“Ah — h — h — h — 00 — 00 — ee — ee — ee — 
EE— ee.” 

“Toddie, do you want uncle to whip 
you?” 

“No.” 

“Then lie still.” 

“Well, I’ze lost my dolly, an’ I tant find 
her anywhere.” 

“Well, I’ll find her for you in the 
morning.” 

“Oo — 00 — ee — I wants my dolly.” 

“Well, I tell you I’ll find her for you in 
the morning.” 

“I want her now — oo — oo ” 

“You can’t have her now, so you can go 
to sleep.” 

‘ ‘Oh — 00 — 00 — 00 — ee ’ ’ 

Springing madly to my feet, I started for 
the offender’s room. I encountered a door 
ajar by the way, my forehead being first to 
discover it. I ground my teeth, lit a candle, 
and said something — no matter what. 

“Oh, you said a bad word!” ejaculated 


42 HELEN’S BABIES 

* 

Toddie; “you won’t go to heaven when 
you die.” 

“Neither will you, if you howl like a 
demon all night. Are you going to be 
quiet now?” 

“Yesh, but I wants my dolly.” 

“/ don’t know where your dolly is — do 

X 

you suppose I’m going to search this entire 
house for that confounded dolly?” 

“ 'Taint ’founded. I wants my dolly.” 

“I don’t know where it is; you don’t 
think I stole your dolly, do you?” 

“Well, I wants it, in de bed wif me.” 
“Charles,” said I, “when you arise in 
the morning, I hope your doll will be 
found. At present, however, you must be 
resigned and go to sleep. I’ll cover you 
up nicely”; here I began to rearrange the 
bed-clothing, when the fateful dolly, source 
of all my woes, tumbled out of them. Tod- 
die clutched it, his whole face lighting up 
with affectionate delight, and he screamed: 
“Oh, dare is my dee dolly; turn to your 
own papa, dolly, an’ I’ll love you.” 


NIGHT— AND MORNING 43 

And that ridiculous child was so com- 
pletely satisfied by his outlay of affection, 
that my own indignation gave place to 
genuine artistic pleasure. One can tire of 
even beautiful pictures, though, when he is 
not fully awake, and is holding a candle in 
a draught of air; so I covered my nephews 
and returned to my own room, where I 
mused on the contradictoriness of child- 
hood until I fell asleep. 

In the morning I was awakened very 
early by the light streaming in the window, 
the sun-shutters of which I had left open 
the night before. The air was alive with 
bird songs, and the eastern sky was flushing 
with tints which no painter's canvas ever 
caught. But ante-sunrise skies and songs 
are not fit subjects for the continued con- 
templation of men who read until mid- 
night; so I hastily closed the shutters, drew 
the blind, dropped the curtains and lay 
down again, dreamily thanking Heaven 
that I was to fall asleep to such exquisite 
music. I am sure that I mentally forgave 


44 


HELEN’S BABIES 


all my enemies as I dropped off into a most 
delicious doze, but the sudden realisation 
that a light hand was passing over my cheek 
roused me to savage anger in an instant. I 
sprang up, and saw Budge shrink timidly 
away from my bedside. 

“I was only a-lovin’ you, cos you was 
good, and brought us candy. Papa lets us 
love him whenever we want to — every 
morning he does.” 

“As early as this?” demanded I. 

“Yes, just as soon as we can see, if we 
want to.” 

Poor Tom! I never could comprehend 
why, with a good wife, a comfortable in- 
come, and a clear conscience, he need 
always look thin and worn — worse than he 
ever did in Virginia woods or Louisiana 
swamps. But now I knew all. And yet, 
what could ope do? That child’s eyes and 
voice, and his expression, which exceeded 
in sweetness that of any of the angels I had 
ever imagined, — that child could coax a 
man to do more self-forgetting deeds than 


NIGHT— AND MORNING 45 

the shortening of his precious sleeping 
hours amounted to. In fact, he was fast 
divesting me of my rightful sleepiness, so 
I kissed him and said: 

“Run to bed, now, dear old fellow, and 
let uncle go to sleep again. After break- 
fast I’ll make you a whistle.” 

“Oh, will you?” The angel turned into 
a boy at once. 

“Yes, now run along.” 

“A loud whistle — a real loud one?” 

“Yes, but not if you don’t go right back 
to bed.” 

The sound of little footsteps receded as 
I turned over and closed my eyes. Speedily 
the bird-song seemed to grow fainter: my 
thoughts dropped to pieces; I seemed to be 
floating on fleecy clouds, and in company 
with hundreds of cherubs with Budge’s 
features and night-shirt. 

“Uncle Harry!” 

May the Lord forget the prayer I put up 
just then! 

“Uncle Harry!” 


HELEN’S BABIES 


46 

“I’ll discipline you, my fine little boy,” 
thought I. “Perhaps, if I let you shriek 
your abominable little throat hoarse, you’ll 
learn better than to torment your uncle, 
that was just getting ready to love you 
dearly.” 

“Uncle Har —ray!” 

“Howl away, you little imp,” thought I. 
“You’ve got me wide awake, and your 
lungs may suffer for it.” Suddenly I heard, 
although in sleepy tones, and with a lazy 
drawl, some words which appalled me. 
The murmurer was Toddie: 

“Want — shee — wheels — go — wound.” 
“Toddie!” I shouted, in the desperation 
of my dread lest Budge, too, might wake 
up, “what do you want?” 

“Uncle Harry!” 

“WHAT!” 

“Uncle Harry, what kind of wood are 
you going to make the whistle out of?” 

“I won’t make any at all — I’ll cut a big 
stick and give you a sound whipping with 
it, for not keeping quiet, as I told you to,” 


NIGHT— AND MORNING 47 

“Why, Uncle Harry, papa don’t whip us 
with sticks — he spanks us.” 

Heavens! Papa! papa! papa! Was I 
never to have done with this eternal quota- 
tion of ‘papa”? I was horrified to find 
myself gradually conceiving a dire hatred 
of my excellent brother-in-law. One thing 
was certain, at any rate; sleep was no 
longer possible; so I hastily dressed, and 
went into the garden. Among the beauty 
and the fragrance of the flowers, and in the 
delicious morning air, I succeeded in re- 
gaining my temper, and was delighted, on 
answering the breakfast bell, two hours 
later, to have Budge accost me with: 
“Why, uncle Harry, where were you? 
We looked all over the house for you, and 
couldn’t find a speck of you.” 

The breakfast was an excellent one. I 
afterwards learned that Helen, dear old 
girl, had herself prepared a bill of fare for 
every meal I should take in the house. As 
the table talk of myself and nephews was 
pot such as could do harm by being re- 


HELEN’S BABIES 


48 

peated, I requested Maggie, the servant, 
to wait upon the children, and I accom- 
panied my request with a small donation. 
Relieved, thus, of all responsibility for the 
dreadful appetites of my nephews, I did 
full justice to the repast, and even regarded 
with some interest and amusement the 
industry of Budge and Toddie with their 
tiny forks and spoons. They ate rapidly 
for awhile, but soon their appetites weak- 
ened and their tongues were unloosed. 

“Ocken Hawwy,” remarked Toddie, 
“daysh an awfoo funny chunt up ’tairs — 
awfoo big chunt. I show it you after 
brepsup.” 

“Toddie’s a silly little boy,” said Budge; 
“he always says brepsup for brekbux.”* 

“Oh! What does he mean by chunt, 
Budge?” 

“I think he means trunk,” replied my 
oldest nephew. 

Recollections of my childish delight in 
rumaging an old trunk — it seems a century 


* Breakfast. 


NIGHT— AND MORNING 49 

ago that I did it — caused me to smile sym- 
pathetically at Toddie, to his apparent 
great delight. How delightful it is to 
strike a sympathetic chord in child-nature, 
thought I ; how quickly the infant eye com- 
prehends the look which precedes the 
verbal expression of an idea. Dear Tod- 
die! for years we might sit at one table, 
careless of each other’s words, but the cas- 
ual mention of one of thy delights has sud- 
denly brought our souls into that sweetness 
of all human communions — that one which 
doubtlessbound the Master himself to that 
apostle who was otherwise apparently the 
weakest among the chosen twelve. “An 
awfoo funny chunt” seemed to annihilate 
suddenly all difference of age, condition, 
and experience, between the wee boy and 
myself, _ and — 

A direful thought struck me. I dashed 
upstairs and into my room. Yes, he did 
mean my trunk. I could see nothing funny 
sympathy between my nephew and myself 
about it — quite the contrary. The bond of 


50 


HELEN’S BABIES 


was suddenly broken. Looking at the mat- 
ter from the comparative distance which a 
few weeks have placed between that day 
and this, I can see that I was unable to con- 
sider the scene before me with a calm and 
unprejudiced mind. I am now satisfied 
that the sudden birth and hasty decease of 
my sympathy with Toddie were striking 
instances of human inconsistency. My soul 
had gone out to his because he loved to 
rummage in trunks, and because I imagined 
he loved to see the monument of incon- 
gruous material which resulted from such 
an operation; the scene before me showed 
clearly that I had rightly divined my 
nephew’s nature. And yet my selfish 
instincts hastened to obscure my soul’s 
vision, and to prevent that joy which should 
ensue when “Faith is lost in full fruition.” 
My trunk had contained nearly every- 
thing, for while a campaigner I had learned 
to reduce packing to an exact science. Now, 
had there been an atom of pride in my 
composition I might have glorified myself, 


NIGHT— AND MORNING 51 

for it certainly seemed as if the heap upon 
the floor could never have come out of a 
single trunk. Clearly, Toddie was more of 
a general connoisseur than an amateur in 
packing. The method of his work I 
quickly discerned, and the discovery threw 
some light upon the size of the heap in 
front of my trunk. A dress-hat and its 
case, when their natural relationship is dis- 
solved, occupy nearly twice as much space 
as before, even if the former contains a 
blacking-box not usually kept in it, and the 
latter a few cigars soaking in bay rum. 
The same sigkt might be said of a portable 
dressing-case and its contents, bought for 
me in Vienna by a brother ex-soldier, and 
designed by an old continental compaigner 
to be perfection itself. The straps which 
prevented the cover from falling entirely 
back had been cut, broken, or parted in 
some way, and in its hollow lay my dress- 
coat, tightly rolled up. Snatching it up 
with a violent exclamation, and unrolling it, 
there dropped from it — one of those abom- 


HELEN’S BABIES 


52 

inable dolls. At the same time a howl was 
sounded from the doorway. 

“You tookted my dolly out of her cradle 
— I want to wock* my dolly — 00 — 00 — 00 — 
ee — ee — ee ” 

“You young scoundrel,” I screamed — 
yes, howled, I was so enraged — “I’ve a 
great mind to cut your throat this minute. 
What do you mean by meddling with my 
trunk?” 

“I doe — know.” Outward turned Tod- 
die’s lower lip; I believe the sight of it 
would move a Bengal tiger to pity, but no 
such thought occurred to me just then. 

“What made you do it?” 

“Be — cause.” 

“Because what?” 

“I doe — know.” 

Just then a terrific roar arose from the 
garden. Looking out, I saw Budge with 
a bleeding finger upon one hand, and my 
razor in the other; he afterwards explained 
he had been making a boat, and that knife 


* Rock. 


NIGHT— AND MORNING 53 

was bad to him. To apply adhesive plaster 
to the cut was the work of but a minute, 
and I had barely completed this surgical 
operation when Tom's gardener-coachman 
appeared, and handed me a letter. It was 
addressed in Helen’s well-known hand, and 
read as follows (the passages in brackets 
were my own comments) : 

“Bloomdale, June 21. 

“DEAR Harry, — I’m very happy in the 
thought that you are with my darling chil- 
dren, and, although I’m enjoying myself 
very much here, I often wish I was with 
you. [Umph — so do I.] I want you to 
know the little treasures well. [Thank you, 
but I don’t think I care to extend the ac- 
quaintanceship further than is absolutely 
necessary.] It seems to me so unnatural 
that relatives know so little of those of their 
own blood, and especially of the innocent 
little spirits whose existence is almost 
unheeded. [Not when there’s unlocked 
trunks standing about, sis.] 


54 


HELEN’S BABIES 


“Now I want to ask a favour of you. 
When we were boys and girls at home, you 
used to talk perfect oceans about physiog- 
nomy, and phrenology, and unerring signs 
of character. I thought it was all nonsense 
then, but if you believe any of it now , I 
wish you’d study the children, and give me 
your well-considered opinion of them. 
[Perfect demons, ma’am; imps, rascals, 
born to be hung — both of them.] 

“I can’t get over the feeling that dear 
Budge is born for something great. [Great 
nuisance.] He is sometimes so thoughtful 
and absorbed, that I almost fear the result 
of disturbing him; then, he has that faculty 
of perseverance which seems to be the only 
thing some men have lacked to make them 
great. [He certainly has it; he exempli- 
fied it while I was trying to get to sleep 
this morning.] 

“Toddie is going to make a poet or a 
musician or an artist. [That’s so; all abom- 
inable scamps take to some artistic pursuit 
as an excuse for loafing.] His fancies take 


NIGHT— AND MORNING 55 

hold of him very strongly. [They do — 
they do; “shee wheels go wound/’ for 
instance.] He has Budge’s sublime earnest- 
ness, but he doesn’t need it; the irresistible 
force with which he is drawn toward what- 
ever is beautiful compensates for the lack. 
[Ah — perhaps that explains his operation 
with my trunk.] But I want your own 
opinion, for I know you make more care- 
ful distinction in character than I do. 

“Delighting myself with the idea that I 
deserve most of the credit for the lots of 
reading you will have done by this time, 
and hoping I shall soon have a line telling 
me how my darlings are, I am as ever, 

“Your loving sister, 

“Helen.” 

Seldom have I been so roused by a letter 
as I was by this one, and never did I prom- 
ise myself more genuine pleasure in writing 
a reply. I determined that it should be a 
masterpiece of analysis and of calm yet 
forcible expression of opinion. 


HELEN’S BABIES 


56 

Upon one step, at any rate, I was posi- 
tively determined. Calling the girl, I 
asked where the key was that locked the 
door between my room and the children’s. 

“Please, sir, Toddie threw it down the 
well.” 

“Is there a locksmith in the village?” 

“No, sir, the nearest one is at Paterson.” 

“Is there a screwdriver in the house?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Bring it to me, and tell the coachman 
to get ready at once to drive me to 
Paterson.” 

The screwdriver was brought, and with 
it I removed the lock, got into the carriage, 
and told the driver to take me to Paterson 
by the hill-road — one of the most beautiful 
roads in America. 

“Paterson!” exclaimed Budge. “Oh, 
there’s a candy store in that town; come on, 
Toddie.” 

“Will you?” thought I, snatching the 
whip and giving the horses a cut. “Not if 
I can help it. The idea of having such a 


NIGHT— AND MORNING 57 

drive spoiled by the clatter of such a 
couple !” 

Away went the horses, and up rose a 
piercing shriek and a terrible roar. It 
seemed that both children must have been 
mortally hurt, and I looked out hastily, 
only to see Budge and Toddie running after 
the carriage, and crying pitifully. It was 
too pitiful, — I could not have proceeded 
without them, even if they had been 
afflicted with small-pox. The driver stopped 
of his own accord, — he seemed to know the 
children’s ways and their results, — and I 
helped Budge and Toddie in, meekly 
hoping that so self-sacrificing an act would 
meet with its due reward. As we reached 
the hill-road, my kindness to my nephews 
seemed to assume greater proportions, for 
the view before me was inexpressibly beau- 
tiful. The air was perfectly clear, and 
across two score towns I saw the great 
metropolis itself, the silent city of Green- 
wood beyond it, the bays, the narrows, the 
sound, the two silvery rivers lying between 


HELEN’S BABIES 


58 

me and the Palisades, and even across and 
to the south of Brooklyn, the ocean itself. 
Wonderful effects of light and shadow, 
picturesque masses, composed of detached 
buildings, so far distant that they seemed 
huddled together; grim factories turned to 
beautiful palaces by the dazzling reflection 
of sunlight from their window-panes; great 
ships seeming in the distance to be toy-boats 
floating idly; with no signs of life percep- 
tible, the whole scene recalled the fairy 
stories read in my youthful days, of en- 
chanted cities, and the illusion was greatly 
strengthened by the dragon-like shape of 
the roof of New York’s new post-office, 
lying in the centre of everything, and 
seeming to brood over all. 

“Uncle Harry!” 

Ah, that was what I expected! 

“Uncle Harry!” 

“Well, Budge?” 

“I always think that looks like heaven.” 
“What does?” 

“Why, all that, — from here over to that 


NIGHT— AND MORNING 59 

other sky way back there behind every- 
thing, I mean. And I think that ” (here he 
pointed towards what probably was a 
photographer’s roof-light) — “that place 
where it’s so shiny, is where God stays.” 
Bless the child! The scene had suggested 
only elfindom to me, and yet I prided my- 
self on my quick sense of artistic effects. 

“An’ over there where that awful bright 
little speck is,” continued Budge, “that’s 
where dear little brother Phillie is; when- 
ever I look over there I see him putting 
his hand out.” 

“Dee ’ittle Phillie went to s’eep in a box, 
and the Lord took him to heaven,” mur- 
mured Toddie, putting together all he had 
seen and heard of death. Then he raised 
his voice, and exclaimed: 

“Ocken Hawwy, do you know what I’zhe 
goin’ do when I be’s big man? Izhe goin’ 
to have hosses an’ tarridge, an’ I’zhe goin’ 
to wide over all ze chees an’ all ze houses, 
an’ all ze world an’ evvyfing. An’ whole 
lots of little birdies is cornin’ in my tarridge 


/ 


6o 


HELEN’S BABIES 


an’ sing songs to me, an’ you can come too 
if you want to, an’ we’ll have ice-c ream and 
’trawberries, an’ see ’ittle fishes swimming 
down in ze water, an’ we’ll get a g’eat big 
house that’s all p’itty on the outshide an’ 
all p’itty on the inshide, an’ it’ll all be ours 
and we’ll do just evvyfing we want to.” 
“Toddie, you’re an idealist.” 

“ Ain’t a ’dealisht.” 

“Toddie’s a goosey-gander,” remarked 
Budge, with great gravity. “Uncle Harry, 
do you think heaven’s as nice as that place 
over there?” 

“Yes, Budge, a great deal nicer.” 

“Then why don’t we die an’ go there? I 
don’t want to go on livin’ for ever an’ ever. 
I don’t see why we don’t die directly; I 
think we’ve lived enough of days.” 

“The Lord wants us to live until we get 
good and strong and clever, and do a great 
deal of good before we die, old fellow — 
that’s why we don’t die directly.” 

“Well, I want to see dear little Phillie, 
an’ if the Lord won’t let him come down 


NIGHT— AND MORNING 61 


here, I think He might let me die an’ go 
to heaven. Little Phillie always laughed 
when I jumped for him. Uncle Harry, 
angels has wings, don’t they?” 

“Some people think they have, old boy.” 
“Well, I know they don’t, ’cos if Phillie 
had wings, I know he’d fly right down here 
an’ see me. So they don’t.” 

“But maybe he has to go somewhere else, 
Budge, or maybe he comes and you can’t 
see him. We can’t see angels with our eyes, 
you know.” 

“Then what made the Hebrew children 
in the fiery furnace see one? Their eyes 
was just like ours, wasn’t they? I don’t 
care; I want to see dear little Phillie very 
much. Uncle Harry, if I went to heaven, 
do you know what I’d do?” 

“What would you do, Budge?” 

“Why, after I saw little Phillie, I’d go 
right up to the Lord an’ give Him a great 
big hug.” 

“What for, Budge?” 

“Oh, ’cos He lets us be so happy, an’ He 


62 HELEN’S BABIES 

gave me my mamma an’ papa, and Phillie 
—but He took him away again, — an’ Tod- 
die, but Toddie’s a dreadful bad boy some- 
times, though.” 

“Very true, Budge,” said I, remembering 
my trunk and the object of my ride. 

“Uncle Harry, did you ever see the 
Lord?” 

“No, Budge; He has been very close to 
me a good many times, but I never saw 
Him.” 

“Well, I have; I see Him every time I 
look up in the sky, and there ain’t nobody 
with me.” 

The driver crossed himself, and whis- 
pered, “He’s for ever a-saying that, an’ 
be the powers, I belave him. Sometimes 
ye’d think that the howly saints themselves 
was a-spakin’ whin that bye gets to goin’ on 
that way.” 

It was wonderful. Budge’s countenance 
seemed too pure to be of the earth as he 
continued to express his ideas of the better 
land and its denizens. As for Toddie, his 


NIGHT— AND MORNING 63 

tongue was going incessantly, although in 
a tone scarcely audible, but when I chanced 
to catch his expressions, they were so droll 
and fanciful, that I took him upon my lap 
that I might hear him more distinctly. I 
even detected myself in the act of examin- 
ing the mental draft of my proposed letter 
to Helen, and of being ashamed of it. But 
neither Toddie’s fancy nor Budge’s spirit- 
uality caused me to forget the principal 
object of my ride. I found a locksmith, 
and left the lock to be fitted with a key. 
Then we drove to the Falls. Both boys dis- 
charged volleys of questions as we stood by 
the gorge, and the fact that the roar of the 
falling water prevented me from hearing 
them did not cause them to relax their ef- 
forts in the least. I walked to the hotel for 
a cigar, taking the children with me. I cer- 
tainly spent no more than three minutes 
in selecting and lighting a cigar, and ask- 
ing a few questions about the Falls; but 
when I turned, the children were missing, 
nor could I see them in any direction. Sud- 


HELEN’S BABIES 


64 

denly before my eyes arose from the nearer 
brink of the gorge two yellowish discs, 
which I recognized as the hats of my 
nephews; then I saw between the discs and 
me two small figures lying upon the ground. 
I was afraid to shout, for fear of scaring 
them, if they happened to hear me. I 
bounded across the grass, industriously 
raving and praying by turns. They were 
lying on their stomachs and looking over 
the edge of the clifif. I approached them 
on tip-toe, threw myself on the ground, and 
grasped a foot of each child. 

“Oh, Uncle Harry!” screamed Budge in 
my ear, as I dragged him close to me, kiss- 
ing and shaking him alternately. “I hunged 
over more than Toddie did.” 

“Well, I — I — I — I — I — I — I hunged 
over a good deal, any how,” said Toddie, in 
self-defence. 


CHAPTER IV 

MY BOUQUET, AND WHAT BE- 
CAME OF IT 


CHAPTER IV 


MY BOUQUET, AND WHAT BECAME OF IT 

T HAT afternoon I devoted to mak- 
ing a bouquet for Miss Mayton, 
and a most delightful occupation 
I found it. It was no florist’s bouquet, com- 
posed of only a few kinds of flowers, wired 
upon sticks, and arranged according to geo- 
metric pattern. I used many a rare flower, 
too shy of bloom to recommend itself to 
florists; I combined tints almost as numer- 
ous as the flowers were, and perfumes to 
which city bouquets are utter strangers. Ar- 
ranging flowers is a favourite pastime of 
mine, but upon this particular occasion I 
enjoyed my work more than I had ever done 
before. Not that I was in love with Miss 
Mayton; a man may honestly and greatly 
admire a handsome, brilliant woman with- 
out being in love with her; he can delight 

67 * 




68 


HELEN’S BABIES 


himself in trying to give her pleasure, with- 
out feeling it necessary that she shall give 
him herself in return. Since I arrived at 
years of discretion, I have always smiled 
sarcastically at the mention of the gener- 
osity of men who were in love; they have 
seemed to me rather to be asking an im- 
mense prize for what they offered. I had 
no such feeling toward Miss Mayton. 
There have been heathens who have of- 
fered gifts to goddesses out of pure adora- 
tion and without any idea of ever having 
the exclusive companionship of their fa- 
vourite divinities. I never offered Miss 
Mayton any attention which did not put me 
into closer sympathy with these same great- 
souled old Pagans, and with such Chris- 
tians as follow their good example. With 
each new grace my bouquet took on, my 
pleasure and satisfaction increased at the 
thought of how she would enjoy the com- 
pleted evidence of my taste. 

At length it was finished, but my delight 
suddenly became clouded by the dreadful 


MY BOUQUET 


69 

thought, “What will people say?” Had 
we been in New York instead of Hillcrest, 
no one but the florist, his messenger, the 
lady and myself would know if I sent a 
bouquet to Miss Mayton; but in Hillcrest, 
with its several hundred native-born gos- 
sips, and its acquaintance of everybody with 
everybody else and their affairs — I feared 
talk. Upon the discretion of Mike, the 
coachman, I could safely rely; I had al- 
ready confidentially conveyed sundry small 
coins to him, and talked to him about one 
of the men at our warehouse whose family 
Mike had known in Old Erin; but every 
one knew where Mike was employed ; every 
one knew — mysterious, unseen and swift are 
the ways of communication in the country! 
— that I was the only gentleman at pres- 
ent residing at Colonel Lawrence’s. Ah! 
— I had it. I had seen in one of the library- 
drawers a small pasteboard box, shaped 
like a bandbox — doubtless that would hold 
it. I found the box — it was of just the 
size I needed. I dropped my card into the 


70 


HELEN’S BABIES 


bottom — no danger of a lady not finding 
the card accompanying a gift of flowers — 
neatly fitted the bouquet in the centre of the 
box, and went in search of Mike. He 
winked cheeringly as I explained the na- 
ture of his errand, and he whispered: 

“I’ll do it as clane as a whistle, yer hon- 
our. Mistress Clarkson’s cook an’ mesilf 
understhand each other, I’m used to goin 1 
up the back way. Dhivil a man can see but 
the angels, an’ they won’t tell.” 

“Very well, Mike; here’s a crown for 
you; you’ll find the box on the hat-rack in 
the hall.” 

Half an hour later, while I sat in my 
chamber window, reading, I beheld Mike, 
cleanly shaved, dressed and brushed, swing- 
ing up the road, with my box balanced on 
one of his enormous hands. With a head 
full of pleasing fancies, I went down to 
supper. My new friends were unusually 
good. Their ride seemed to have toned 
down their boisterousness and elevated their, 
little souls; their appetites exhibited no 


MY BOUQUET 


7i 


diminution of force, but they talked but lit- 
tle, and all that they said was smart, funny, 
or startling — so much so that when, after 
supper, they invited me to put them to bed, 
I gladly accepted the invitation. Toddie 
disappeared somewhere, and came back 
very disconsolate. 

“Can’t find my dolly’s k’adle,” he whined. 
“Never mind,, old pet,” said I soothingly. 
“Uncle will ride you on his foot.” 

“But I want my dollys k’adle,” said he, 
piteously rolling out his lower lip. 

I remembered my experience when Tod- 
die wanted to “shee wheels go wound,” and 
I trembled. 

“Toddie,” said I, in a tone so persuasive 
that it would be worth thousands a year 
to me, as a salesman, if I could only com- 
mand it at will; “Toddie, don’t you want 
to ride on uncle’s back?” 

“No: want my dolly’s k’adle.” 

“Don’t you want me to tell you a story?” 
For a moment Toddie’s face indicated a 
terrible internal conflict between old Adam 


72 


HELEN’S BABIES 


and mother Eve, but curiosity finally over- 
powered natural depravity, and Toddie 
murmured : 

“Yesh.” 

“What shall I tell you about?” 

“ ’Bout Nawndeark.” 

“About what?” 

“He means Noah an’ the ark,” exclaimed 
Budge. 

“Datsh what / shay — Nawndeark,” de- 
clared Toddie. 

“Well,” said I, hastily refreshing my 
memory by picking up the Bible — for 
Helen, like most people, is pretty sure to 
forget to pack her Bible when she runs 
away from home for a few days — “well, 
once it rained forty days and nights, and 
everybody was drowned from the face of 
the earth excepting Noah, a righteous man, 
who was saved with all his family, in an 
ark which the Lord commanded him to 
build.” 

“Uncle Harry,” said Budge, after con- 
templating me with open eyes and mouth 


MY BOUQUET 


73 

for at least two minutes after I had finished, 
“do you think that’s Noah?” 

“Certainly, Budge; here’s the whole story 
in the Bible.” 

“Well, I don’t think it’s Noah one single 
bit,” said he with increasing emphasis. 

“I’m beginning to think we read differ- 
ent Bibles, Budge; but let’s hear your ver- 
sion.” 

“Huh?” 

“Tell me about Noah, if you know so 
much about him.” 

“I will, if you want me to. Once the 
Lord felt so uncomfortable ’cos folks was 
bad that he was sorry he ever made any- 
body, or any world or anything. But Noah 
wasn’t bad— the Lord liked him very much, 
so he told Noah to build a big ark, and 
then the Lord would make it rain so every- 
body should be drownded but Noah an’ his 
little boys an’ girls, an’ doggies an’ pussies 
an’ mamma-cows an’ little boy-cows an’ lit- 
tle girl-cows an’ horses an’ everything — 
they’d go in the ark an’ wouldn’t get wetted 


74 


HELEN’S BABIES 


a bit, when it rained. An’ Noah took lots 
of things to eat in the ark — cakes, an’ milk, 
an’ oatmeal, an’ strawberries, an’ porgies, 
an’ — oh, yes; an’ plum puddin’s an’ lots of 
pies. But Noah didn’t want everybody to 
get drownded, so he talked to folks an’ said, 
‘It’s goin’ to rain frightful pretty soon; 
you’d better be good, an’ then the Lord’ll 
let you come into my ark.’ An’ they jus’ 
said, ‘Oh, if it rains we’ll go in the house 
till it stops’; an’ other folks said, ‘We ain’t 

afraid of rain — we’ve got an umbrella.’ An’ 

* 

some more said, they wasn’t goin’ to be 
afraid of a little rain. But it did rain 
though, an’ folks went in their houses, an’ 
the water came in, an’ they went upstairs, 
an’ the water came up there, an’ they got 
on the tops of the houses, an’ up in big 
trees, an’ up in mountains, an’ the water 
went after ’em everywhere an’ drownded 

r 

everybody, only just except Noah an’ the 
people in the ark. An’ it rained forty days 
an’ nights, an’ then it stopped, and Noah 
got out of the ark, an’ he an’ his little boys 


MY BOUQUET 


75 


an’ girls went wherever they wanted to, an’ 
everything in the world was all theirs ; there 
wasn’t anybody to tell ’em to go home, nor 
no schools to go to, nor no bad boys to 
fight ’em, nor nothin’. Now tell us ’nother 
story.” 

I determined that I would not again at- 
tempt to repeat portions of the Scripture 
narrative — my experience in that direction 
had not been encouraging. I ventured upon 
a war story. 

“Do you know what the war was?” I 
asked, by way of reconnaissance. 

“Oh, yes,” said Budge, “papa was there, 
an’ he’s got a sword ; don’t you see it, hangin’ 
up there?” 

Yes, I saw it, and the difference between 
the terrible field where last I saw Tom’s 
sword in action, and this quiet room where 
it now hung, forced me into a reverie, from 
which I was aroused by Budge remarking: 

“Ain’t you goin’ to tell us one?” 

“Oh, yes, Budge. One day, while the 
war was going on, there was a whole lot of 


HELEN’S BABIES 


76 

soldiers going along a road, and they were 
as hungry as they could be; they hadn’t had 
anything to eat that day.” 

“Why didn’t they go into the houses, and 
tell the people they was hungry? That’s 
what I do when I goes along roads.” 

“Because the people in that country 
didn’t like them; the brothers and papas 
and husbands of those people were soldiers 
too; but they didn’t like the soldiers I told 
you about first, and they wanted to kill 
them.” 

“I don’t think they were a bit nice,” said 
Budge, with considerable decision. 

“Well, the first soldiers wanted to kill 
them, Budge.” 

“Then they was all bad, to want to kill 
each other.” 

“Oh, no, they weren’t; there were a great 
many very good men on both sides.” 

Poor Budge looked sadly puzzled, as he 
had an excellent right to do, since the wisest 
and best men are sorely perplexed by the 
nature of warlike feeling. 


MY BOUQUET 


77 

“Both parties of soldiers were on horse- 
back,” I continued, “and they were near 
each other, and when they saw each other 
they made their horses run fast, and the bu- 
gles blew, and the soldiers all took their 
swords out to kill each other with, when 
just then a little boy, who had been out in 
the woods to pick berries for his mamma, 
tried to run across the road, and caught his 
toe in something or other, and fell down 
and cried. Then somebody hallooed ‘Halt!’ 
very loud, and all the horses on one side 
stopped, and then somebody else hallooed 
‘Halt!’ and a lot of bugles blew, and every 
horse on the other side stopped, and one 
soldier jumped off his horse, and picked up 
the little boy — he was only about as big as 
you, Budge — and tried to comfort him; and 
then a soldier from the other side came up 
to look at him, and then more soldiers from 
both sides to look at him; and when he got 
better and walked home, the soldiers all 
rode away, because they didn’t feel at all 
inclined to fight just then,” 


HELEN’S BABIES 


78 

“Oh, Uncle Harry! I think it was a very 
good soldier that got off his horse to take 
care of that poor little boy.” 

“Do you, Budge? Who do you think it 
was?” 

“I dunno.” 

“It was your papa.” 

“Oh — h — h — h — h !” If Tom could have 
but seen the expression upon his boy’s face 
as he prolonged this exclamation, his loss 
of one of the grandest chances a cavalry of- 
ficer ever had would not have seemed so 
great to him as it had done for years. He 
seemed to take in the story in all its bear- 
ings, and his great eyes grew in depth as 
they took on the far-away look which 
seemed too earnest for the strength of an 
earthly being to support. 

But Toddie — he whom a fond mamma 
thought to be endowed with art sense — 
Toddie had throughout my recital the air 
of a man who was musing on some affair 
of his own, and Budge’s exclamation had 
hardly died away, when Toddie commenced 


I 


MY BOUQUET 79 

to weave aloud an extravaganza wholly his 
own. 

“When I was a soldier,” he remarked, 
very gravely, “I had a coat an’ a hat on, an’ 
a muff, an’ a little knake * wound my neck 
to keep me warm, an’ it wained an’ hailed, 
an’ ’tormed, an’ I felt bad, so I whallowed 
a sword an’ burned me all down dead.” 

“And how did you get here?” I asked, 
with interest proportioned to the import- 
ance of Toddie’s last clause. 

“Oh, I got up from the burn-down dead, 
an’ corned right here. An’ I want my 
dolly’s k’adle.” 

Oh, persistent little dragon! If you were 
of age, what a fortune you might make in 
business ! 

/“Uncle Harry, I wish my papa would 
come home now directly,” said Budge. 

' “Why, Budge?” 

“I want to love him for bein’ so good to 
that poor little boy in the war.” 

“Ocken Hawwy, I want my dolly’s 

* Snake: tippet. 


8o 


HELEN’S BABIES 


k’adle, tause my dolly’s in it, an’ I want 
to shee her;” thus spake Toddie. 

“Don’t you think the Lord loved my 
papa very much for doin’ that sweet thing, 
Uncle Harry?” asked Budge. 

“Yes, old fellow, I feel sure that He did.” 

“Lord lovesh my papa vewy much, so 
I love ze Lord vewy much,” remarked Tod- 
die. “An’ I wants my dolly's k’adle an’ 
my dolly.” 

“Toddie, I don’t know where either of 
them are — I can’t find them now — do wait 
until morning, then Uncle Harry will look 
for them.” 

“I don’t see how the Lord can get on in 
heaven without my papa, Uncle Harry,” 
said Budge. 

“Lord takesh papa to heaven, an’ Budgie 
an’ me, an’ we’ll go walkin’ an’ see ze Lord, 
an’ play wif ze angels’ wings, an’ hazh 
happy timsh, an’ never have to go to bed 
at all.” 

Pure-hearted little innocents! compared 
with older people whom we endure, how 


MY BOUQUET 81 

great thy faith and how few thy faults! 
How superior thy love 

A knock at the door interrupted me. 
“Come in!” I shouted. 

In stepped Mike, with an air of the great- 
est secrecy, handed me a letter and the iden- 
tical box in which I had sent the flowers 
to Miss Mayton. What could it mean? I 
hastily opened the envelope, and at the 
same time Toddie shrieked: 

“Oh, darsh my dolly’s k’adle — dare 
tizh!” snatched and opened the box, and 
displayed — his doll! My heart sickened, 
and did not regain its strength during the 
perusal of the following note: 

“Miss Mayton herewith returns to Mr. 
Burton the package which just arrived, with 
his card. She recognizes the contents as a 
portion of the apparent property of one of 
Mr. Burton’s nephews, but is unable to un- 
derstand why it should have been sent to 
her. 

“June 20, 1875.” 


82 


HELEN’S BABIES 


“Toddie,” I roared, as my youngest 
nephew caressed his loathsome doll, and 
murmured endearing words to it, “where 
did you get that box?” 

“On the hat-wack,” replied the youth, 
with perfect fearlessness. “I keeps it in ze 
book-case djawer, an’ somebody took it 
’way an’ put nasty ole flowers in it.” 

“Where are those flowers?” I demanded. 
Toddie looked up with considerable sur- 
prise, but promptly replied: 

“I froed ’em away — don’t want no ole 
flowers in my dolly’s k’adle. That’s ze way 
she wocks — see!” And this horrible little 
destroyer of human hopes rolled that box 
backwards and forwards with the most utter 
unconcern, as he spoke endearing words to 
the substitute for my beautiful bouquet! 

To say that I looked at Toddie reprov- 
ingly is to express my feelings in the most 
inadequate language, but of language in 
which to express my feelings to Toddie I 
could find absolutely none. Within two or 
three short moments I had discovered how 



Copyright, 1921, by Frederick A. Stokes Company 

“MIKE HANDED ME A LETTER AND THE IDENTICAL 


BOX IN WHICH I HAD SENT THE FLOWERS 
TO MISS MAYTON” 


Page 81 








































• 5 > 



»* 


( 





































MY BOUQUET 


83 

very anxious I really was to merit Miss 
Mayton’s regard, and how very different 
was the regard I wanted from that which I 
had previously hoped might be accorded 
me. It seemed too ridiculous to be true 
that I, who had for years had dozens of 
charming lady acquaintances, and yet had 
always maintained my common-sense and 
self-control; I, who had always considered 
it unmanly for a man to specially interest 
himself in any lady until he had an income 
of a thousand a year; I, who had skilfully, 
and many times, argued that life-attach- 
ments, or attempts thereat, which were 
made without a careful preliminary study 
of the mental characteristics of the partner 
desired, were most unpardonable follies — 
I had transgressed every one of my own 
rules, and, as if to mock me for my pre- 
tended wisdom and care, my weakness was 
made known to me by a three-year-old 
marplot and a hideous rag-doll! 

That merciful and ennobling dispensa- 
tion by which Providence enables us to 


HELEN’S BABIES 


84 

temper the severity of our own sufferings 
by alleviating those of others came soon to 
my rescue. Under my stern glance Toddie 
gradually lost interest in his doll and its 
cradle, and began to thrust forth and out- 
ward his piteous lower lip, and to weep 
copiously. 

“Dee Lord, not make me sho bad,” he 
cried, through his tears. I doubt his having 
had any clear idea of what he was saying, 
or whom he was addressing; but had the 
publican, of whose prayer Toddie made so 
fair a paraphrase, worn such a face when 
he offered his famous petition, it seems to 
me that it could not have been denied for a 
moment. Toddie even retired to a corner, 
and hid his face in self-imposed penance. 

“Never mind, Toddie,” said I sadly; 
“you didn’t mean to do it, I know.” 

“I wantsh to love you,” sobbed Toddie. 

“Well, come here, you poor little fellow,” 
said I, opening my arms, and wondering 
whether ’twas not after contemplation of 


MY BOUQUET 85 

some such sinner that good Bishop Tegner 
wrote : 

“Depths of love are atonement’s depths, for love is 
atonement.” 


Toddie came to my arms, shed tears freely 
upon my shirt-front, and finally, after heav- 
ing a very long sigh, remarked: 

“Wantsh you to love me.” 

I complied with his request. Theoretic- 
ally, I had long believed that the higher 
wisdom of the Creator was most frequently 
expressed through the medium of his most 
innocent creations. Surely here was a con- 
firmation of my theory, for who else had 
ever practically taught me the duty of the 
injured one towards the offender? I kissed 
Toddie and petted him, and at length suc- 
ceeded in quieting him; his little face, in 
spite of much dirt and many tear-stains, 
was upturned with more of beauty in it than 
it ever held when its owner was full of joy; 
he looked earnestly, confidingly, into my 
eyes, and I congratulated myself upon the 


86 


HELEN’S BABIES 


perfection of my forgiving spirit, when 

* 

Toddie suddenly re-exhibited to me my old 
unregenerate nature, and the incomplete- 
ness of my forgiveness, by saying: 

“Kish my dolly too.” 

I obeyed. My forgiveness was made com- 
plete, but so was my humiliation. I abrupt- 
ly closed our interview. We exchanged 
“God bless you,” according to Budge’s 
instructions of the previous night, and at 
least one of the participants in this devo- 
tional exercise hoped the petitions made by 
the other were distinctly heard. Then I 
dropped into an easy chair in the library, 
and fell to thinking. I found myself really 
and seriously troubled by the results of 
Toddie’s operation with my bouquet. I 
might explain the matter to Miss Mayton — 
I undoubtedly could, for she was too sensible 
a woman to be easily offended merely by a 
ridiculous mistake, caused by a child. But 
she would laugh at vie — how could she help 
it? — and to be laughed at by Miss Mayton 
was a something the mere thought of which 


MY BOUQUET 87 

tormented me in a manner that made me 
fairly ashamed of myself. Like every other 
young man among many men, I had been 
the butt of many a rough joke, and had 
borne them without wincing; it seemed 
cowardly and contemptible that I should 
be so sensitive under the mere thought of 
laughter which would probably be heard 
by no one but Miss Mayton herself. But 
the laughter of a mere acquaintance is likely 
to lessen respect for the person laughed at. 
Heavens! the thought was unendurable! 
At any rate, I must write an early apology. 
When I was correspondent for the house in 
which I am now salesman I reclaimed many 
an old customer who had wandered off — 
certainly I might hope by a well-written 
letter to regain in Miss Mayton’s respect 
whatever position I had lost. I hastily 
drafted a letter, corrected it carefully, 
copied it in due form, and forwarded it by 
the faithful Michael. Then I tried to read, 
but without the least success. For hours I 
paced the piazza and consumed cigars; 


88 


HELEN’S BABIES 


when at last I retired, it was with many 
ideas, hopes, fears, and fancies which had 
never before been mine. True to my trust, 
I looked into my nephew’s room; there lay 
the boys, in postures more graceful than any 
which brush or chisel have ever reproduced. 
Toddie, in particular, wore so lovely an 
expression that I could not refrain from 
kissing him. But I was none the less care- 
ful to make use of my new key, and to lock 
my other door also. 


/ 


CHAPTER V 


WHAT HAPPENED IN CHURCH 


CHAPTER V 


WHAT HAPPENED IN CHURCH 

T HE next day was the Sabbath. Be- 
lieving fully in the binding force 
and worldly wisdom of the Fourth 
Commandment, so far as it refers to rest, I 
have conscientiously trained myself to sleep 
two hours later on the morning of the holy 
day than I ever allow myself to do on busi- 
ness days. But having inherited, besides a 
New England conscience, a New England 
abhorrence of waste, I regularly sit up two 
hours later on Saturday nights than on any 
others; and the night preceding this par- 
ticular Sabbath was no exception to the 
rule, as the reader may imagine from the 
foregoing recital. 

At about 5.30 a. m., however, I became 
conscious that my nephews were not in 
accord with me on the Sinaitic law. They 


91 


92 


HELEN’S BABIES 


were not only awake, but were disputing 
vigorously, and, seemingly, very loudly, for 
I heard their words very distinctly. With 
sleepy condescension I endeavoured to ig- 
nore these noisy irreverents, but I was sud- 
denly moved to a belief in the doctrine of 
vicarious atonement, for a flying body, with 
more momentum than weight, struck me 
upon the not prominent bridge of my nose, 
and speedily and with unnecessary force 
accommodated itself to the outline of my 
eyes. After a moment spent in anguish, 
and in wondering how the missile came 
through closed doors and windows, I dis- 
covered that my pain had been caused by 
one of the dolls, which, from its extreme 
uncleanliness, I suspected belonged to Tod- 
die; I also discovered that the door between 
the rooms was open. 

“Who threw that doll?” I shouted sternly. 

There came no response. 

“Do you hear?” I roared. 

“What is it, Uncle Harry?” asked Budge, 
with most exquisitely polite inflection. 


WHAT HAPPENED IN CHURCH 93 

“Who threw that doll?” 

“Huh?” 

“I say, who threw that doll?” 

“Why, nobody did it.” 

“Toddie, who threw that doll?” 

“Budge did,” replied Toddie, in muffled 
tones, suggestive of a brotherly hand laid 
forcibly over a pair of small lips. 

“Budge, what did you do that for?” 
“Why — why — I — because — why, you see 
— because, why, Toddie froo his dolly in 
my mouth; some of her hair went in, any- 
how, an’ I didn’t want his dolly in my 
mouth, so I sent it back to him, an’ the foot 
of the bed didn’t stick up enough, so it went 
froo the door to your bed — that’s what for.” 
The explanation seemed to bear marks 
of genuineness, albeit the pain of my eye 
was not alleviated thereby, while the exer- 
tion expended in eliciting the information 
had so thoroughly awakened me that fur- 
ther sleep was out of the question. Besides, 
the open door, — had a burglar been in the 


94 


HELEN’S BABIES 


room? No; my watch and pocket-book 
were undisturbed. 

“Budge, who opened that door?” 

After some hesitation, as if wondering 
who really did it, Budge replied: 

“Me.” 

How did you do it?” 

“Why, you see we wanted a drink, an’ 
the door was fast, so we got out of our win- 
dow on the varrandy roof, an’ corned in 
through your window.” (Here a slight 
pause.) “An’ ’twas fun. An’ then we un- 
locked the door, an’ corned back.” 

Then I should be compelled to lock my 
sun-shutters — or theirs, and this in the sum- 
mer season too! Oh, if Helen could have 
but passed the house as that white-robed 
procession had filed along the verandah- 
roof! I lay pondering over the vast amount 
of unused ingenuity that was locked up in 
millions of children, or employed only to 
work misery among unsuspecting adults, 
when I heard light footfalls at my bedside, 


WHAT HAPPENED IN CHURCH 95 

and saw a small shape with a grave face 
approach and remark: 

“I wants to come in your bed.” 

“What for, Toddie?” 

“To fwolic; papa always fwolics us 
Sunday mornin’s. Turn, Budgie, Ocken 
Hawwy’s doin’ to fwolic us.” 

Budge replied by shrieking with delight, 
tumbling out of bed, and hurrying to that 
side of my bed not already occupied by 
Toddie. Then those two little savages 
sounded the onslaught and advanced pre- 
cipitately upon me. Sometimes, during the 
course of my life, I have had day-dreams 
which I have told to no one. Among these 
has been one — not now so distinct as it was 
before my four years of campaigning — of 
one day meeting in deadly combat the 
painted Indian of the plains; of listening 
undismayed to his frightful war whoop, 
and of exemplifying in my own person the 
inevitable result of the pale-face’s superior 
intelligence. But upon this particular Sun- 
day morning I relinquished this idea, in- 


HELEN’S BABIES 


96 

formally, but for ever. Before the advance 
of these diminutive warriors I quailed con- 
temptibly, and their battle-cry sent more 
terrors to my soul than that member ever 
experienced from the well-remembered 
rebel yell. According to Toddie, I was 
going to “fwolic” them ; but from the first 
they took the whole business into their own 
little but effective hands. Toddie pro- 
nounced my knees, collectively, “a horsie- 
bonnie,” and bestrode them, laughing glee- 
fully at my efforts to unseat him, and hold- 
ing himself in position by digging his pudgy 
fingers into whatever portions of my anat- 
omy he could most easly seize. Budge 
shouted, “I want a horsie, too!” and seated 
himself upon my chest. “This is the way 
the horsie goes,” explained he, as he slowly 
rocked himself backward and forward. I 
began to realize how my brother-in-law, 
who had once been a fine gymnast, had be- 
come so flat-chested. Just then Budge’s 
face assumed a more spirited expression, his 
eyes opened wide and lightened up, and 


WHAT HAPPENED IN CHURCH 97 

shouting, “This is the way the horsie trots ” 
he stood upright, threw up his feet, and 
dropped his forty-three avoirdupois pounds 
forcibly upon my lungs. He repeated this 
operation several times before I fully recov- 
ered from the shock conveyed by his com- 
bined impudence and weight; but pain 
finally brought my senses back, and with a 
wild plunge I unseated my demoniac riders 
and gained a clear space in the middle of 
the floor. 

“Ah — h — h — h — h — h — h,” screamed 
Toddie, “I wants to wide horshie backen.” 

“Boo — 00 — 00 — 00 — roared Budge, “I 
think you’re very unkind. I don’t love you 
at all.” 

Regardless alike of Toddie’s desires, of 
Budge’s opinion, and the cessation of his 
regard, I performed a hasty toilet. Not- 
withstanding my lost rest, I felt savagely 
thankful for Sunday; at church, at least, I 
could be free from my tormentors. At the 
breakfast-table both boys invited themselves 
to accompany me to the sanctuary, but I 


98 HELEN’S BABIES 

declined without thanks. To take them 
might be to assist somewhat in teaching 
them one of the best of habits, but I strongly 
doubted whether it could in any way be 
deemed my duty to endure the probable con- 
sequences of such an attempt. Besides, I 
might meet Miss Mayton. I both hoped 
and feared I might, and I could not endure 
the thought of appearing before her with 
the causes of my pleasant remembrance. 
Budge protested and Toddie wept, but I 
remained firm, although I was so willing to 
gratify their reasonable desires that I took 
them out for a long ante-service walk. 
While enjoying this little trip I delighted 
the children by killing a snake and spoiling 
a slender cane at the same time, my own 
sole consolation coming from the discovery 
that the remains of the staff were sufficient 
to make a cane for Budge. While returning 
to the house and preparing for church, I 
entered into a solemn agreement with 
Budge, who was usually recognized as the 
head of this fraternal partnership. Budge 


WHAT HAPPENED IN CHURCH 99 

contracted, for himself and brother, to make 
no attempts to enter my room; to refrain 
from fighting; to raise loose dirt only with 
a shovel, and to convey it to its destination 
by means other than their own hats and pin- 
afores ; to pick no flowers ; to open no water- 
faucets; to refer all disagreements to the 
cook, as arbitrator, and to refrain from 
building houses with the new books which 
I had stacked upon the library table. In 
consideration of the promised faithful ob- 
servance of these conditions, I agreed that 
Budge should be allowed to come alone to 
the Sunday-school, which met directly after 
morning service, he to start only after Mag- 
gie had pronounced him duly cleansed and 
clothed. As Toddie was daily kept in bed 
from eleven to one, I felt that I might safely 
go to church without distracting fears, for 
Budge could not alone, and in a single hour, 
become guilty of any particular sin. The 
church at Hillcrest had many more seats 
than members, and as but few summer vis- 
itors had yet appeared in the town, I was 


ioo HELEN’S BABIES 

/ 

conscious of being industriously stared at 
by the native members of the congregation. 
This was of itself discomfort enough, but 
not all to which I was destined, for the pew- 
opener conducted me quite near to the altar, 
and showed me into a pew whose only other 
occupant was Miss Mayton! Of course the 
lady did not recognize me — she was too 
carefully bred to do anything of the sort in 
church, and I spent ten uncomfortable 
minutes in mentally abusing the customs of 
good society. The beginning of the service 
partially ended my uneasiness, for I had no 
hymn-book — the pew contained none — so 
Miss Mayton kindly offered me a share in 
her own. And yet so faultlessly perfect and 
stranger-like was her manner, that I won- 
dered whether her action might not have 
been prompted merely by a sense of Chris- 
tian duty; had I been the Khan of Tartary 
she could not have been more polite and 
frigid. The music to the first hymn was an 
air I had never heard before, so I stumbled 
miserably through the tenor, although Miss 


WHAT HAPPENED IN CHURCH ioi 


Mayton rendered the soprano without a 
single false note. The sermon was longer 
than I was in the habit of listening to, and I 
was frequently conscious of not listening at 
all. As for my position and appearance, 
never did either seem so insignificant as 
they did throughout the entire service. 

The minister reached “And finally, dear 
brethren,” with my earnest prayer for a suc- 
cessful and speedy finale. It seemed to me 
that the congregation sympathized with me, 
for there was a general rustle behind me as 
these words were spoken. It soon became 
evident, however, that the hearers were 
moved by some other feeling, for I heard a 
profound titter or two behind me. Even 
Miss Mayton turned her head with more 
alacrity than was consistent with that grace 
which usually characterized her motions, 
and the minister himself made a pause of 
unusual length. I turned in my seat, and 
saw my nephew, Budge, dressed in his best, 
his head irreverently covered, and his new 
cane swinging in the most stylish manner. 


102 


HELEN’S BABIES 


He paused at each pew, carefully surveying 
its occupants, seemed to fail in finding the 
object of his search, but continued his efforts 
in spite of my endeavours to catch his eye. 
Finally, he recognized a family acquaint- 
ance, and to him he unburdened his bosom 
by remarking in tones easily heard through- 
out the church : 

“I want to find my uncle.” 

Just then he caught my eye, smiled rap- 
turously, hurried to me, and laid his rascally 
soft cheek confidingly against mine, while 
an audible sensation pervaded the church. 
What to do or say to him I scarcely knew; 
but my quandary was turned to wonder, as 
Miss Mayton, her face full of ill-repressed 
mirth, but her eyes full of tenderness, drew 
the little scamp close to her, and kissed him 
soundly. At the same instant, the minister, 
not without some little hesitation, said, “Let 
us pray.” I hastily bowed my head, glad 
of a chance to hide my face; but as I stole 
a glance at the cause of this irreligious dis- 
turbance, I caught Miss Mayton’s eye. She 


WHAT HAPPENED IN CHURCH 103 

was laughing so violently that the contagion 
was unavoidable, and I laughed all the more 
as I felt that one mischievous boy had un- 
done the mischief caused by another. 

After the benediction, Budge was the re- 
cipient of a great deal of attention, during 
the confusion of which I embraced the op- 
portunity to say to Miss Mayton: 

“Do you still sustain my sister in her 
opinion of my nephews, Miss Mayton?” 

“I think they’re too funny for anything,” 
replied the lady, with great enthusiasm. “I 
do wish you would bring them to call upon 
me. I’m longing to see an original young 
gentleman.” 

“Thank you,” said I. “And I’ll have 
Toddie bring a bouquet by way of atone- 
ment.” 

“Do,” she replied, as I allowed her to 
pass from the pew. The word was an insig- 
nificant one, but it made me happy once 
more. 

“You see, Uncle Harry,” exclaimed 
Budge, as we left the church together, “the 


104 


HELEN’S BABIES 


Sunday-school wasn’t open yet, an’ I wanted 
to hear if they’d sing again in church; so I 
came in, an’ you wasn’t in papa’s seat, an’ I 
knew you was somewhere , so I looked for 
you.” 

“Bless you,” thought I, snatching him 
into my arms as if to hurry him to the 
Sunday-school, but really to give him a kiss 
of grateful affection, “you did right — 
exactly right.” 


CHAPTER VI 


ON SUNDAY AFTERNOON 



CHAPTER VI 


ON SUNDAY AFTERNOON 

* 

M Y Sunday dinner was unexcep- 
tionable in point of quantity and 
quality, and a bottle of my 
brother-in-law’s claret proved to be most 
excellent; yet a certain uneasiness of mind 
prevented my enjoying the meal as thor- 
oughly as under other circumstances I 
might have done. My uneasiness came of 
a mingled sense of responsibility and ignor- 
ance. I felt that it was the proper thing for 
me to see that my nephews spent the day 
with some sense of the requirements and 
duties of the Sabbath; but how I was to 
bring it about I hardly knew. The boys 
were too small to have Bible-lessons admin- 
istered to them, and they were too lively to 
be kept quiet by any ordinary means. After 
a great deal of thought, I determined to 

107 


io8 


HELEN’S BABIES 


consult the children themselves, and try to 
learn what their parents’ custom had been. 

“Budge,” said I, “what do you do on 
Sundays when your papa and mamma are 
at home? What do they read to you — what 
do they talk about?” 

“Oh, they swing us — lots!” said Budge 
with brightening eyes. 

“An’ zey takes us to get jacks,” observed 
Toddie. 

“Oh, yes!” exclaimed Budge; “jacks-in- 
the-pulpit — don’t you know?” 

“Hum — ye — es; I do remember some 
such thing in my youthful days. They grow 
where there’s plenty of mud, don’t they?” 

“Yes, an’ there’s a brook there, an’ ferns, 
an’ birch-bark, an’ if you don’t look out 
you’ll tumble into the brook when you go to 
get birch.” 

“An’ we goes to Hawksnest Rock,” piped 
Toddie, “an’ papa carries us up on his back 
when we gets tired.” 

“An’ he makes us whistles,” said Budge. 


ON SUNDAY AFTERNOON 109 

“Budge,” said I, rather hastily, “enough. 
In the language of the poet, 

‘These earthly pleasures I resign/ 

and I’m rather astonished that your papa 
hasn't taught you to do likewise. Doesn’t 
he ever read to you?” 

“Oh, yes,” cried Budge, clapping his 
hands, as a happy thought struck him. “He 
gets down the Bible — the great big Bible, 
you know — an’ we all lay on the floor, an’ 
he reads us stories out of it. There’s David, 
an’ Noah, an’ Our Lord when he was a little 
boy, an’ Joseph, an’ turnbackPharo’sarmy- 

hallelujah ” 

“And what?” 

“TurnbackPharo’sarmyhallelujah,” re- 
peated Budge. “Don’t you know how 
Moses held out his cane over the Red Sea, 
and the water went way up one side, an’ 
way up the other side, and all the Isrulites 
went across? It’s just the same thing 
as drown oldPharo’sarmyhallelujah — don’t 
you know?” 


I IO 


HELEN’S BABIES 


“Budge,” said I, “I suspect you of having 
heard the Jubilee Singers.” 

“Oh, papa and mamma sings us all those 
Jubilee songs — there’s ‘Swing Low,’ an’ 
‘Roll Jordan,’ an’ ‘Steal Away,’ an’ ‘My 
Way’s Cloudy,’ an’ ‘Get on Board, Chil- 
duns,’ an’ lots. An’ you can sing us every 
one of ’em.” 

“An’ papa takes us in the woods, an’ 
makesh us canes,” said Toddie. 

“Yes,” said Budge, “and where there’s 
new houses buildin’, he takes us up ladders.” 
“Has he any way of putting an extension 
on the afternoon?” I asked. 

“I don’t know what that is,” said Budge, 
“but he puts an India-rubber blanket on the 
grass, and then we all lie down an’ make 
b’lieve we’re soldiers asleep. Only some- 
times when we wake up papa stays asleep, 
an’ mamma won’t let us wake him. I don’t 
think that’s a very nice play.” 

“Well, I think Bible stories are nicer 
than anything else, don’t you?” 

Budge seemed somewhat in doubt. “I 


ON SUNDAY AFTERNOON iii 


think swingin’ is nicer,” said he — “oh, no; 
let’s get some jacks — Til tell you what — 
make us whistles, an’ we can blow on ’em 
while we’re goin’ to get the jacks. Toddie, 
dear, wouldn’t you like jacks and whistles?” 
“Yesh — an’ swingin’ — an’ birch — an’ 
wantsh to go to Hawksnesh Rock,” answered 
Toddie. 

“Let’s have Bible stories first,” said I. 
“The Lord mightn’t like it if you didn’t 
learn anything good to-day.” 

“Well,” said Budge, with the regulation 
religious-matter-of-duty face, “let’s have 
’em. I think I like ’bout Joseph best.” 

“Tell us ’bout Bliaff,” suggested Toddie. 
“Oh, no, Tod,” remonstrated Budge; 
“Joseph’s coat was just as bloody as 
Goliath’s head was.” Then Budge turned 
to me and explained that “all Tod likes 
Goliath for is ’cause when his head was cut 
off it was all bloody.” And then Toddie — 
the airy sprite whom his mother described 
as being irresistibly drawn to whatever was 
beautiful — Toddie glared upon me as a 


I 12 


HELEN’S BABIES 


butcher’s apprentice might stare at a 
doomed lamb, and remarked: 

“Bliaff’s head was all bluggy, an’ David’s 
sword was all bluggy — bluggy as every- 
fmg” 

I hastily breathed a small prayer, opened 
the Bible, turned to the story of Joseph, and 
audibly condensed it as I read: 

“Joseph was a good little boy whose papa 
loved him very dearly. But his brothers 
didn’t like him. And they sold him, to go to 
Egypt. And he was very clever, and told 
people what their dreams meant, and he 
got to be a great man. And his brothers 
went to Egypt to buy corn, and Joseph sold 
them some, and then he let them know who 
he was. And he sent them home to bring 
their papa to Egypt, and then they all lived 
there together.” 

“That ain’t it,” remarked Toddie, with 
the air of a man who felt himself to be un- 
justly treated. “Is it, Budge?” 

“Oh, no,” said Budge, “you didn’t read it 
good a bit; I’ll tell you how it is. Once 


ON SUNDAY AFTERNOON 1 13 

there was a little boy named Joseph, an’ he 
had eleven budders — they was eleven awful 
budders. An’ his papa gave him a new coat, 
an’ his budders hadn’t nothin’ but their old 
jackets to wear. An’ one day he was carry- 
ing ’em their dinner, an’ they put him in a 
deep, dark hole, but they didn’t put his nice 
new coat in — they killed a kid, an’ dipped 
the coat — just think of doin’ that to a nice 
new coat — they dipped it in the kid’s blood, 
an’ made it all bloody.” 

“All bluggy,” echoed Toddie, with fero- 
cious emphasis. Budge continued: 

“But there were some Ishmalites, cornin’ 
along that way, and the eleven awful bud- 
ders took him out of the deep, dark hole, 
an’ sold him to the Ishmalites, an’ they sold 
him away down in Egypt. An’ his poor old 
papa cried, an’ cried, an’ cried, ’cause he 
thought a big lion eat Joseph up; but he 
wasn’t eat up a bit; but there wasn’t no post- 
office nor choochoos,* nor stages in Egypt, 
and there wasn’t any telegraphs, so Joseph 


* Railway carriages. 


HELEN’S BABIES 


1 14 

couldn’t let his papa know where he was: 
an’ he got so clever an’ so good that the king 
of Egypt let him sell all the corn an’ take 
care of the money; an’ one day some men 
came to buy some corn, an’ Joseph looked 
at ’em, an’ there they was his own budders! 
An’ he scared ’em like everything; Fd have 
slapped ’em all if Fd been Joseph, but he 
just scared ’em, and then he let ’em know 
who he was, an’ he kissed ’em an’ he didn’t 
whip ’em, or make ’em go without their 
breakfast, or stand in a corner, nor none of 
them things: an’ then he sent ’em back for 
their papa, and when he saw his papa corn- 
in’, he ran like everything, and gave him a 
great big hug and a kiss. Joseph was too 
big to ask his papa if he brought him any 
candy, but he was awful glad to see him. 
An’ the king gave Joseph’s papa a nice 
farm, an’ they all were happy for ever more 
after that.” 

“And they dipped the coat in the blood, 
an’ made it all bluggy,” reiterated Toddie. 

“Uncle Harry,” said Budge, “what do 


ON SUNDAY AFTERNOON 115 

you think my papa would do if he thought 
I was all eaten up by a lion? I guess he’d 
cry awful, don’t you? Now tell us another 

story — oh, 77/ tell you — read us ’bout ” 

“ ’Bout Bliaff,” interrupted Toddie. 

“You tell me about him, Toddie,” said I. 
“Why,” said Toddie, “Bliaff was a brate 
bid man, an’ Dave was brate little man, 
and Bliaff said, ‘Come over here’n an’ I’ll 
eat you up,’ an’ Dave said, ‘7 ain’t fyaid of 
you.’ So Dave put five little stones in a 
sling an’ asked de Lord to help him, an’ let 
ze sling go bang into bequeen Bliaff’s eyes 
an’ knocked him down dead, an Dave took 
Bliaff’s sword an’ sworded Bliaff’s head off, 
an’ made it all bluggy, an’ Bliaff runned 
away.” This short narration was accom- 
panied by more spirited and unexpected 
gestures than Mr. Gough, the temperance 
orator, ever put into a long lecture. 

“I don’t like ’bout Goliath at all,” re- 
marked Budge. “ I’d like to hear about 
’Ferus.” 

“Who?” 


ii6 


HELEN’S BABIES 


“ ’Ferus; don’t you know?” 

“Never heard of him, Budge.” 

“Why — y — y — !” exclaimed Budge; 
“didn’t you have no papa when you was a 
little boy?” 

“Yes, but he never told me about any one 
named ’Ferus ; there’s no such person named 
in Anthon’s Classical Dictionary, either. 
What sort of a man was he?” 

“Why, once there was a man an’ his name 
was ’Ferus — O/ferus, an’ he went about 
fightin’ for kings, but when any king got 
afraid of anybody he wouldn’t fight for him 
no more. An’ one day he couldn't find no 
kings that wasn’t afraid of nobody. An’ the 
people told him the Lord was the biggest 
king in the world, an’ he wasn’t afraid of 
nobody nor nothing. An’ he asked ’em 
where he could find the Lord, and they said 
he was up in heaven, so nobody couldn’t see 
him but the angels, but he likes folks to 
work for him instead of fight. So ’Ferus 
wanted to know what kind of work he could 
do, an’ people said there was a river not far 


ON SUNDAY AFTERNOON 117 

off, where there wasn’t no ferry-boats, cos 
the water run so fast, an’ they thought if 
he’d carry folks across, the Lord would like 
it. So ’Ferus went there, an’ he cut him a 
good, strong cane, an’ whenever anybody 
wanted to go across the river he’d carry ’em 
on his back. 

“One night he was sittin’ in his little 
house by the fire, and smokin’ his pipe an’ 
readin’ the paper, an’ ’twas rainin’ an’ 
blowin’ an’ hailin’ an’ stormin’, an’ he was 
so glad there wasn’t anybody wantin’ to go 
’cross the river, when he heard somebody 
call out ‘’Ferus!’ An’ he looked out the 
window, but he couldn’t see nobody, so he 
sat down again. Then somebody called 
‘’Ferus!’ again, and he opened the door 
again, an’ there was a little bit of a boy, 
’bout as big as Toddie. An’ ’Ferus said, 
‘Hello, young fellow, does your mother 
know you’re out?’ An’ the little boy said, 
‘I want to go ’cross the river.’ — ‘Well,’ says 
’Ferus, ‘you’re a mighty little fellow to be 
travellin’ alone, but hop up.’ So the little 


1 1 8 HELEN’S BABIES 

boy jumped on ’Ferus’s back, and ’Ferus 
walked into the water. Oh, my — wasn't it 
cold? An 1 every step he took that little boy 
got heavier, so ’Ferus nearly tumbled down, 
an’ if he had both of ’em would have got 
drownded. An’ when they got across the 
river ’Ferus said, ‘Well, you are the heaviest 
small fry I ever carried,’ an’ he turned 
around to look at him, an’ ’twasn’t no little 
boy at all — ’twas a big man — ’twas Christ. 
An’ Christ said, 1 ’Ferus, I heard you was 
tryin’ to work for me, so I thought I’d come 
down an’ see you, an’ not let you know who 
I was. An’ now you shall have a new name ; 
you shall be called Christ- offerus, cos that 
means Christ-carrier. An’ everybody called 
him Christofferus after that, an’ when he 
died they called his Saint Christopher, cos 
Saint is what they call good people when 
they’re dead.” 

Budge himself had the face of a rapt saint 
as he told this story, but my contemplation 
of his countenance was suddenly arrested by 


ON SUNDAY AFTERNOON 1 19 

Toddie, who, disapproving of the unexcit- 
ing nature of his brother's recital, had 
strayed into the garden, investigated a 
wasp’s nest, been stung, and set up a piercing 
shriek. He ran in to me, and as I hastily 
picked him up, he sobbed: 

“Want to be wocked*. Want ‘Toddie 
one boy day.’ ” 

I rocked him violently, and petted him 
tenderly, but again he sobbed: 

“Want ‘Toddie one boy day.’ ” 

“What does the child mean!” I exclaimed. 

“He wants you to sing to him about 
‘Charley boy one day,’ ” said Budge. “He 
always wants mamma to sing that when he’s 
hurt, an’ then he stops crying.” 

“I don’t know it,” said I. “Won’t ‘Roll, 
Jordan,’ do, Toddie?” 

“ 77 / tell you how it goes,” said Budge, 
and forthwith the youth sang the following 
song, a line at a time, I following him in 
words and air : 


* Rocked. 


120 


HELEN’S BABIES 


“Where is my little bastik t gone?” 

Said Charley boy, one day ; 

“I guess some little boy or girl 
Has taken it away. 

“An’ kittie, too — where ish she gone? 

Oh, dear, what shall I do? 

I wish I could my bastik find, 

An’ little kittie, too. 

“I’ll go to mamma’s room an’ look; 

Perhaps she may be there: 

For kittie likes to take a nap 
In mamma’s easy chair. 

“Oh, mamma, mamma, come an’ look! 

See what a little heap! 

Here’s kittie in the bastik here, 

All cuddled down to sleep.” 

Where the applicability of this poem to 
my nephew's peculiar trouble appeared, I 
could not see, but as I finished it, his sobs 
gave place to a sigh of relief, 

“Toddie ,” said I. “do you love your uncle 
Harry?” 

“Esh, I do love you.” 

“Then tell me how that ridiculous song 
comforts you.” 


t Basket. 


ON SUNDAY AFTERNOON 121 


“Makes me feel good, an’ all nicey,” re- 
plied Toddie. 

“Wouldn’t you feel just as good if I sang, 
‘Plunged in a gulf of dark despair’?” 

“No, don’t like dokdispairs; if a dokdis- 
pair done anyfing to me I’d knock it right 
down dead.” 

With this extremely lucid remark, our 
conversation on this particular subject end- 
ed; but I wondered, during a few uneasy 
moments, whether the temporary mental 
aberration which had once afflicted Helen’s 
grandfather and mine was not reappearing 
in this, his youngest descendant. My won- 
dering was cut short by Budge, who re- 
marked, in a confident tone: 

“Now, Uncle Harry, we’ll have the 
whistles, I guess.” 

I acted upon the suggestion, and led the 
way to the woods. I had not had occasion 
to seek a hickory sapling before for years; 
not since the war, in fact, when I learned 
how hot a fire small hickory sticks would 
make. I had not sought wood for whistles 


122 


HELEN’S BABIES 


since — gracious! nearly a quarter of a cen- 
tury ago ! The dissimilar associations called 
up by these recollections threatened to put 
me in a frame of mind which might have 
resulted in a bad poem, had not my nephews 
kept up a lively succession of questions such 
as no one but children can ask. The whistles 
completed, I was marched, with music, to 
the place where the “jacks” grew. It was 
just such a place as boys instinctively delight 
in — low, damp, and boggy, with a brook 
hiding treacherously away under overhang- 
ing ferns and grasses. The children knew 
by sight the plant which bore the “jacks,” 
and every discovery was announced by a 
piercing shriek of delight. At first I looked 
hurriedly toward the brook as each yell 
clove the air; but, as I became accustomed 
to it, my attention was diverted by some ex- 
quisite ferns. Suddenly, however, a suc- 
cession of shrieks announced that something 
was wrong, and across a large fern I saw a 
small face in a great deal of agony. Budge 
was hurrying to the relief of his brother, 



Copyright, 1921, by Frederick A. Stokes Company 

« ‘NOW UNCLE HARRY, WE’LL HAVE THE 

GUESS’ ” 



WHISTLES, I 
— Page 121 



ON SUNDAY AFTERNOON 123 

and was soon as deeply imbedded as Toddie 
was in the rich black mud at the bottom of 
the brook. I dashed to the rescue, stood 
astride the brook, and offered a hand to 
each boy, when a treacherous tuft of grass 
gave way, and, with a glorious splash, I went 
in myself. This accident turned Toddie’s 
sorrow to laughter, but I can’t say I made 
light of my misfortune on that account. To 
fall into clean water is not pleasant, even 
when one is trout-fishing; but to be clad in 
white trousers, and suddenly drop nearly 
knee-deep in the lap of mother Earth is 
quite a different thing. I hastily picked up 
the children, and threw them upon the 
bank, and then wrathfully strode out my- 
self, and tried to shake myself as I have seen 
a Newfoundland dog do. The shake was 
not a success — it caused my trouser-leg to 
flap dismally about my ankles, and sent the 
streams of loathsome ooze trickling down 
into my shoes. My hat, of drab felt, had 
fallen off by the brookside, and been plenti- 
fully spattered as I got out. I looked at 


124 HELEN’S BABIES 

my youngest nephew with speechless indig- 
nation. 

“Uncle Harry,” said Budge, “ ’twas very 
good of the Lord to let you be with us, else 
Toddie might have been drownded.” 

“Yes,” said I, “and I shouldn’t have 
much ” 

“Ocken Hawwy,” cried Toddie, running 
impetuously towards me, pulling me down, 
and patting my cheek with his muddy black 
hand, “I loves you for takin’ me out of de 
water.” 

“I accept your apology,” said I, “but let’s 
hurry home.” There was but one residence 
to pass, and that, thank fortune, was so 
densely screened by shrubbery that the in- 
mates could not see the road. To be sure, 
we were on a favourite driving-road, but we 
could reach home in five minutes, and we 
might dodge into the woods if we heard a 
carriage coming. Ha! There came a car- 
riage already, and we — was there ever a 
sorrier-looking group? There were ladies 
in the carriage, too — could it be — of course 


ON SUNDAY AFTERNOON 125 

it was — did the evil spirit, which guided 
those children always, send an attendant for 
Miss Mayton before he began operations? 
There she was, anyway — cool, neat, dainty, 
trying to look collected, but severely flushed 
by the attempt. It was of no use to drop my 
eyes, for she had already recognized me; 
so I turned to her a face which I think must 
have been just the one — unless more defiant 
— that I carried into two or three cavalry 
charges. 

“You seem to have been having a pleas- 
ant afternoon together,” said she, with a 
conventional smile, as the carriage passed. 
“Remember, you’re all going to call on me 
to-morrow afternoon.” 

Bless the girl. Her he-art was quick as 
her eyes — almost any other young lady 
would have devoted her entire energy to 
laughing on such an occasion, but she took 
her earliest opportunity to make me feel at 
ease. Such a royal-hearted woman deserves 
to — I caught myself just here, with my 
cheeks growing quite hot under the mud 


126 HELEN’S BABIES 

Toddie had put on them, and I led our re- 
treat with a more stylish carriage than my 
appearance could possibly have warranted, 
and then I consigned my nephews to the 
maid with very much the air of an officer 
turning over a large number of prisoners 
he had captured. I hastily changed my 
soiled clothing for my best — not that I ex- 
pected to see any one, but because of a sud- 
den increase in the degree of respect I felt 
toward myself. When the children were 
put to bed, and I had no one but my thoughts 
for companions, I spent a delightful hour 
or two in imagining as possible some 
changes of which I had never dared to think 
before. 


CHAPTER VII 

OUR VISIT, AND WHAT IT 
BROUGHT ABOUT 




CHAPTER VII 


OUR VISIT, AND WHAT IT BROUGHT ABOUT 

O N Monday morning I was in the 
garden at sunrise. Toddie was 
to carry his expiatory bouquet to 
Miss Mayton that day, and I proposed that 
no pains should be spared to make his atone- 
ment as handsome as possible. I canvassed 
carefully every border, bed, and detached 
flowering plant until I had as accurate an 
idea of their possibilities as if I had inven- 
toried the flowers in pen and ink. This 
done, I consulted the servant as to the un- 
soiled clothing of my nephews. She laid 
out their entire wardrobe for my inspection, 
and, after a rigid examination of every- 
thing, I selected the suits which the boys 
were to wear in the afternoon. Then I told 
the girl that the boys were going with me 

i 

after dinner to call on some ladies, and that 


129 


HELEN’S BABIES 


130 

I desired that she should wash and dress 
them carefully. 

“Tell me just what time you’ll start, sir, 
and I’ll begin an hour beforehand,” said 
she. “That’s the only way to be sure that 
they don’t disgrace you.” 

For breakfast we had, among other 
things, some stewed oysters served in soup- 
plates. 

“Oh, Todd,” shrieked Budge, “there’s 
the turtle-plates again — oh, ain't I glad!” 

“Oo — ee — turtle-pyates,” squealed Tod- 
die. 

“What on earth do you mean, boys?” I 
demanded. 

“77/ show you,” said Budge, jumping 
down from his chair and bringing his plate 
of oysters cautiously toward me. “Now 
you just put your head down underneath my 
plate, and look up, and you’ll see a turtle.” 

For a moment I forgot that I was not at 
a restaurant, and I took the plate, held it 
up, and examined its bottom. 

“There!” said Budge, pointing to the 


OUR VISIT 


131 

trade-mark, in colours, of the makers of the 
crockery, “don’t you see the turtle?” 

I abruptly ordered Budge to his seat, un- 
moved even by Toddie’s remark, that — 
“Dey ish turtles, but dey can’t kvvawl 
awound like udder turtles.” 

After breakfast I devoted a great deal of 
fussy attention to myself. Never did my 
own wardrobe seem so meagre and ill- 
assorted; never did I cut myself so many 
times while shaving; never did I use such 
unsatisfactory shoe-polish. I finally gave 
up in despair my effort to appear genteel, 
and devoted myself to the bouquet. I cut 
almost flowers enough to dress a church, 
and then remorselessly excluded everyone 
which was in the least particular imperfect. 
In making the bouquet I enjoyed the benefit 
of my nephews’ assistance and counsel, and 
took enforced part in conversation which 
flowers suggested. 

“Ocken Hawwy,” said Toddie, “ish heav- 
en all like this, wif pretty flowers? Cos I 


132 HELEN’S BABIES 

don't see what ze angels ever turns out for 
if ’tis ” 

“Uncle Harry,” said Budge, “when the 
leaves all go up and down and wriggle 
around so, are they talking to the wind?” 

“I — I daresay they are, old fellow.” 
“Who are you making that bouquet for, 
Uncle Harry?” asked Budge. 

“For a lady — for Miss Mayton — that 
lady that saw us all muddy yesterday after- 
noon,” said I. 

“Oh, I like her,” said Budge. “She looks 
so nice and pretty — just like a cake — just as 
if she was good to eat — oh, I just love her, 
don’t you?” 

“Well, I respect her very highly, Budge.” 
“ ’Spect? What does ’spect mean?” 
“Why, it means that I think she’s a lady 
— a very pleasant lady — just the nicest sort 
of lady in the world — the sort of person 
I’d like to see every day, and like to see her 
better than anyone else.” 

“Oh, why, 'spect an’ love means just the 
same thing, don't they, Uncle Harry?” 


OUR VISIT 


i33 


“Budge,” I exclaimed, somewhat hastily, 
“run and ask Maggie for a piece of string 
— quick!” 

“All right,” said Budge, moving off; 
“but they do, don’t they?” 

At two o’clock I instructed Maggie to 
dress my nephews, and at three we started 
to make our call. To carry Toddie’s bou- 
quet, and hold a hand of each boy so as to 
keep them from darting into the hedges for 
grasshoppers, and the gutters for butter- 
flies, was no easy work, but I managed to 
do it. 

As we approached Mrs. Clarkson’s 
boarding-house I felt my hat was over one 
ear, and my cravat awry, but there was no 
opportunity to rearrange them, for I saw 
Alice Mayton on the verandah, and felt 
that she saw me. Handing the bouquet to 
Toddie, and promising him three sticks of 
candy if he would be careful and not drop 
it, we entered the garden. The moment we 
were inside the hedge, and Toddie saw a 
man going over the lawn with a lawn-mow- 


134 


HELEN’S BABIES 


er, he shrieked, “Oh, dersh a grass-cutter!” 
and dropped the bouquet with a carelessness 
born of perfect ecstasy. I snatched it be- 
fore it reached the ground, dragged the 
offending youth up the walk, saluted Miss 
Mayton, and told Toddie to give the bou- 
quet to the lady. This he succeeded in 
doing, but as Miss Mayton thanked him and 
stooped to kiss him he wriggled off the 
verandah like a little eel, shouted “Turn 
on!” to his brother, and a moment later my 
nephews were following the “grass-cutter” 
at a respectful distance in the rear. 

“Those are my sister’s best children in 
the world, Miss Mayton,” said I. 

“Bless the little darlings!” replied the 
lady; “I do love to see children enjoying 
themselves.” 

“So do I,” said I, “when I’m not respon- 
sible for their well-being; but if the effort 
I’ve expended on those boys had been 

directed toward the interests of my employ- 
ers, those worthy gentlemen would consider 

me invaluable.” 


OUR VISIT 


i35 


Miss Mayton made some witty reply, and 
we settled to a pleasant chat about mutual 
acquaintances, about books, pictures, music, 
and the gossip of our set. I would cheer- 
fully have discussed Herbert Spencer’s sys- 
tem, the Assyrian Tablets, or any other dry 
subject with Miss Mayton, and felt that I 
was richly repaid by the pleasure of seeing 
her. Handsome, intelligent, composed, 
tastefully dressed, without a suspicion of the 
flirt or the languid woman of fashion about 
her, she awakened to the uttermost every 
admiring sentiment and every manly feel- 
ing. But, alas! my enjoyment was prob- 
ably more than I deserved, so it was cut 
short. There were other ladies boarding 
at Mrs. Clarkson’s, and, as Miss Mayton 
truthfully observed at our first meeting, 
men were very scarce at Hillcrest. So the 
ladies, by the merest accident, of course, 
came out on the verandah, and each one was 
presented to me, and common civility made 
it impossible for me to speak to Miss May- 
ton more than once in ten minutes. At any 


HELEN’S BABIES 


136 

other time and place I should have found 
the meeting of so many ladies a delightful 
experience, but now — 

Suddenly a compound shriek arose from 
the lawn, and all the ladies sprang to their 
feet. I followed their example, setting my 
teeth firmly and viciously, hoping that 
whichever nephew had been hurt was badly 
hurt. We saw Toddie running toward us, 
with one hand in his mouth, while Budge 
ran beside him, exclaiming: 

“Poor little Toddie! Don’t cry! Does 
it hurt you very bad? Never mind — Uncle 
Harry’ll comfort you. Don’t cry, Toddie 
de- ar !” 

% 

Both boys reached the verandah steps, 
and clambered up, Budge exclaiming: 

“Oh, Uncle Harry, Toddie put his fingers 
in the little wheels of the grass-cutter, an’ 
it turned just the least little biddie, an’ it 
hurted him.” 

But Toddie ran up to me, clasped my 
legs, and sobbed. 

“Sing, ‘Toddie one boy day.’ ” 


OUR VISIT 


137 


My blood seemed to freeze. I could have 
choked that dreadful child, suffering though 
he was. I stooped over him, caressed him, 
promised him candy, took out my watch and 
gave it to him to play with, but he returned 
to his original demand. A lady — the home- 
liest in the party — suggested that she should 
bind up his hand, and I inwardly blessed 
her, hut he reiterated his request for “Tod- 
die one boy day,” and sobbed pitifully. 

“What does he mean?” asked Miss May- 
ton. 

“He wants Uncle Harry to sing, ‘Charley 
boy one day,’” explained Budge; “he al- 
ways wants that song when he’s hurt any 
way.” 

“Oh, do sing it to him, Mr. Burton,” 
pleaded Miss Mayton; and all the other 
ladies exclaimed, “Oh, do!” 

I wrathfully picked him up in my arms 
and hummed the air of the detested song. 

“Sit in a wockin’ chair,” sobbed Toddie. 

I obeyed; and then my tormentor re- 
marked : 


HELEN’S BABIES 


L38 

“You don’t sing the wydes (words) — I 
wants the wydes.” 

I sang the words as softly as possible, with 
my lips close to his ear, but he roared : 

“Sing louder.” 

“I don’t know any more of it, Toddie,” 
I exclaimed in desperation. 

“Oh, I’ll tell it all to you, Uncle Harry,” 
said Budge. And there, before that 
audience, and her , I was obliged to sing that 
dreadful doggerel, line for line, as Budge 
repeated it. My teeth were set tight, my 
brow grew clammy, and I gazed upon Tod- 
die with terrible thoughts in my mind. No 
one laughed — I grew so desperate that a 
titter would have given relief. At last I 
heard some one whisper: 

“ See how he loves him! Poor man! — 
he’s in perfect agony over the little fellow.” 

Had not the song reached its natural end 
just then, I believe I should have tossed my 
wounded nephew over the verandah rail. 
As it was, I set him upon his feet, announced 
the necessity of our departure, and began to 


OUR VISIT 


U9 

take leave, when Miss Mayton’s mother 
insisted that we should stay to dinner. 

“For myself, I should be delighted, Mrs. 
Mayton,” said I ; “but my nephews have 
hardly learned company manners yet. I’m 
afraid my sister wouldn’t forgive me if she 
heard I had taken them out to dinner.” 

“Oh, I’ll take care of the little dears,” 
said Miss Mayton; “they’ll be good with 
me, I know” 

“I couldn’t be so unkind as to let you try 
it, Miss Mayton,” I replied. But she in- 
sisted, and the pleasure of submitting to 
her will was so great that I would have 
risked even greater mischief. So Miss 
Mayton sat down to dinner with Budge 
upon one side and Toddie on the other, 
while I was fortunately placed opposite, 
from which position I could indulge in 
warning winks and frowns. The soup was 
served. I signalled the boys to tuck their 
napkins under their chins and then turned 
to speak to the lady on my right. She 
politely inclined her head toward me, but 


140 


HELEN’S BABIES 


her thoughts were elsewhere; following her 
eyes, I beheld my youngest nephew with his 
plate upraised in both hands, his head on 
the table-cloth, and his eyes turned pain- 
fully upward. I dared not speak, for fear 
he would drop the plate. Suddenly he 
withdrew his head, put on an angelic smile, 
tilted his plate, so that part of its contents 
sought refuge in the folds of Miss Mayton’s 
dainty, snowy dress, while the offender 
screamed : 

“Oo — ee! — zha turtle on my pyate! 
Budgie, zha turtle on my pyate!” 

Budge was about to raise his plate when 
he caught my eye and desisted. Poor Miss 
Mayton actually looked discomposed for 
first time in her life, so far as I knew or 
could imagine. She recovered quickly, 
however, and treated that wretched boy 
with the most Christian forbearance and 
consideration during the remainder of the 
meal. When the dessert was finished she 
quickly excused herself, while I removed 
Toddie to a secluded corner of the verandah, 


OUR VISIT 


14 1 

and favoured him with a lecture which 
caused him to howl pitifully, and compelled 
me to caress him and undo all the good 
my rebukes had done. Then he and Budge 
removed themselves to the lawn, while I 
awaited Miss Mayton’s reappearance, to 
offer an apology for Toddie, and to make 
our adieus. It was the custom of the ladies 
at Mrs. Clarkson’s to stroll about the lovely 
rural walks after dinner until twilight; and 
on this particular evening they departed in 
twos and threes leaving me to make my 
apology without witnesses. I was rather 
sorry they went; it was not pleasant to feel 
that I was principally responsible for my 
nephew’s blunder, and to have no oppor- 
tunity to allay my conscience-pangs by con- 
versation. It seemed to me Miss Mayton 
was forever in appearing; I even called up 
my nephews to have some one to talk to. 

Suddenly she appeared, and in an instant 
I fervently blessed Toddie and the soup 
which the child had sent upon its aimless 
wanderings. I would rather pay the price 


142 


HELEN’S BABIES 


of a fine dress than try to describe Miss 
Mayton’s attire; I can only say that in style, 
colour, and ornament it became her per- 
fectly, and set off the beauties of a face 
which I had never before thought was more 
than pleasing and intelligent. Perhaps the 
anger which was excusable after Toddie’s 
graceless caper had something to do with 
putting unusual colour into her cheeks, and 
a brighter sparkle than usual in her eyes. 
Whatever was the cause, she looked queenly 
and I half imagined that I detected in her 
face a gleam of satisfaction at the involun- 
tary start which her unexpected appearance 
caused me to make. She accepted my apol- 
ogy for Toddie with queenly graciousness, 
and then, instead of proposing that we 
should follow the other ladies, as a moment 
before I had hoped she would, she dropped 
into a chair. I accepted the invitation; the 
children should have been in bed half an 
hour before, but my sense of responsibility 
had departed when Miss Mayton appeared. 
The little scamps were safe until they 


OUR VISIT 


H3 


should perform some new and unexpected 
act of impishness. They retired to one end 
of the verandah, and busied themselves in 
experiments upon a large Newfoundland 
dog, while I, the happiest man alive, talked 
to the glorious woman before me, and en- 
joyed the spectacle of her radiant beauty. 
The twilight came and deepened, but im- 
agination prevented the vision from fading. 
With the coming of the darkness and the 
starlight, our voices unconsciously dropped 
to lower tones, and her voice seemed purest 
music. And yet we said nothing which all 
the world might not have listened to with- 
out suspecting a secret. The ladies returned 
in little groups, but either out of womanly 
intuition, or in answer to my unspoken but 
fervent prayers, passed us and went into 
the house. I was affected by an odd mix- 
ture of desperate courage and despicable 
cowardice. I determined to tell her all, yet 
I shrank from the task with more terror 
than ever befell me in the first steps of a 
charge. 


144 


HELEN’S BABIES 


Suddenly a small shadow came from be- 
hind us and stood between us, and the voice 
of Budge remarked: 

“Uncle Harry ’spects you, Miss Mayton.” 

“Suspects me? — of what, pray? 1 ’ ex- 
claimed the lady, patting my nephew’s 
cheek. 

“Budge!” said I — I feel that my voice 
rose nearly to a scream — “Budge, I must 
beg of you to respect the sanctity of confi- 
dential communications.” 

“What it is, Budge?” persisted Miss 
Mayton; “you know the old adage, Mr. 
Burton: ‘Children and fools speak the 
truth.’ Of what does he suspect me, 
Budge?” 

“ ’Taint jwj-pect at all,” said Budge, “it’s 
es-spect.” 

“Expect?” echoed Miss Mayton. 

“No, not ‘ex,’ it’s aspect. I know all 
about it, ’cause I asked him. Espect is what 
folks do when they think you’re nice, and 
like to talk to you, and ” 

“Respect is what the boy is trying to say, 


OUR VISIT 


145 


Miss Mayton,” I interrupted, to prevent 
what I feared might follow. “Budge has 
a terrifying faculty for asking questions, 
and the result of some of them, this morn- 
ing, was my endeavour to explain to him 
the nature of the respect in which gentlemen 
hold ladies.” 

“Yes,” continued Budge, “I know all 
about it, only Uncle Harry don't say it 
right. What he calls espect I calls love" 

There was an awkward pause — it seemed 
an age. Another blunder, and all on ac- 
count of those dreadful children. I could 
think of no possible way to turn the conver- 
sation ; stranger yet, Miss Mayton could not 
do so either. Something must be done — I 
could at least be honest, come what would 
— I would be honest. 

“Miss Mayton,” said I, hastily, earnestly, 
but in a very low tone, “Budge is a marplot, 
but he is a truthful interpreter for all that. 
But whatever my fate may be, please do 
not suspect me of falling suddenly into love 


HELEN’S BABIES 


146 

for a holiday’s diversion. My malady is of 

some months’ standing. I ” 

“/ want to talk a bit,” observed Budge. 
“You talk all the whole time. I — I — when 
/ loves anybody I kisses them.” 

Miss Mayton gave a little start, and my 
thoughts followed each other with unim- 
agined rapidity. She did not turn the con- 
versation — it could not be possible that she 
could not. She was not angry, or she would 
have expressed herself. Could it be that — 
I bent over her and acted upon Budge’s 
suggestion. As she displayed no resent- 
ment, I pressed my lips a second time to her 
forehead, then she raised her head slightly, 
and I saw, in spite of darkness and shadows, 
that Alice Mayton had surrendered at dis- 
cretion. Taking her hand, and straighten- 
ing myself to my full height, I offered to 
the Lord more fervent thanks than He ever 
heard from me in church. Then I heard 
Budge say, “I wants to kiss you, too,” and 
I saw my glorious Alice snatch the little 
scamp into her arms, and treat him with 


OUR VISIT 


H7 


more affection than I ever imagined was in 
her nature. Then she seized Toddie and 
gave him a few tokens of forgiveness — I 
dare not think they were of gratitude. 

Suddenly two or three ladies came upon 
the verandah. 

“Come, boys,” said I. “Then I’ll call 
with the carriage to-morrow at three, Miss 
Mayton. Good evening.” 

“Good evening,” replied the sweetest 
voice in the world; “I’ll be ready at three.” 



CHAPTER VIII 

TWO CARRIAGES AND THEIR 
OCCUPANTS 


CHAPTER VIII 


TWO CARRIAGES AND THEIR OCCUPANTS 



UDGE,” said I, as soon as we were 
fairly outside the hedge-gate, “what 
do you like better than anything else 
in the world?” 

“Candy,” said Budge, very promptly. 
“What next?” 

“Oranges.” 

“What next?” 

“Oh, figs, an’ raisins, an’ dear little kittie- 
kitties, an’ drums, an’ picture-books, an’ 
little bakin’ dishes to make mud-pies in, an’ 
turtles, an’ little wheel-barrows.” 
“Anything else?” 

“Oh, yes — great big black dogs— an’ a 
goat, an’ a wagon for him to draw me in.” 
“Very well, old fellow— you shall have 
every one of those things to-morrow.” 

“Oh — h — h — h — h!” exclaimed Budge, 



152 HELEN’S BABIES 

“I guess you’re something like the Lord, 
ain’t you?” 

“What makes you think so, Budge?” 

“Oh, ’cause you can do such lots of things 
at once. But ain’t poor little Tod going to 
have noffin’?” 

“Yes, everything he wants. What would 
you like, Toddie?” 

“Wants a candy cig ar,” replied Toddie. 

“What else?” 

“Don’t want nuffin else — don’t want to 
be bothered wif lots of fings.” 

The thoughts which were mine that night 
— the sense of how glorious a thing it is to 
be a man and be loved — the humility that 
comes with such a victory as I had gained 
— the rapid alternation of happy thoughts 
and noble resolutions — what man is there 
who does not know my whole story better 
than I can tell it? I put my nephews to 
bed; I told them every story they asked for; 
and when Budge, in saying his prayers, said, 
“an’ bless that nice lady that Uncle Harry 
’spects,” I interrupted his devotions with a 


TWO CARRIAGES 


i53 


hearty hug. The children had been awake 
so far beyond their usual hour for retiring 
that they dropped asleep without giving 
any special notice of their intention to do 
so. Asleep, their faces were simply angelic. 
As I stood, candle in hand, gazing grate- 
fully upon them, I remembered a sadly neg- 
lected duty. I hurried to the library, and 
wrote the following to my sister: — 

“HlLLCREST, Monday night. 

“Dear Helen, — I should have written 
you before had I been exactly certain what 
to say about your boys. I confess that until 
now I have been blind to some of their 
virtues, and have imagined I detected an 
occasional fault. But the scales have fallen 
from my eyes, and I see clearly that my 
nephews are angels — positively angels. If 
I seem to speak extravagantly, I beg to refer 
you to Alice Mayton for collateral evi- 
dence. Don’t come home at all — every- 
thing is just as it should be — even if you 
come, I think I’ll invite myself to spend the 


154 


HELEN’S BABIES 


rest of the summer with you; I’ve changed 
my mind about it's being a bore to live out 
of town and go in and out by train every 
day. Ask Tom to think over such bits of 
real estate in your neighborhood as he 
imagines I might like. 

“I repeat it, the boys are angels, and Alice 
Mayton is another, while the happiest man 
in the drapery trade is 

“Your affectionate brother, 

“Harry.” 

Early next morning I sought the society 
of my nephews. It was absolutely necessary 
that I should overflow to some one — some 
one who was sympathetic and innocent and 
pure. I longed for my sister — my brother, 
but to some one I must talk at once. Budge 
fulfilled my requirements exactly; he was 
an excellent listener, very sympathetic by 
nature, and quick to respond. Not the wis- 
dom of the most reverend sage alive could 
have been so grateful to my ear as that 
child’s prattle was on that delightful morn- 


TWO CARRIAGES 


i55 

ing. As for Toddie — blessed be the law of 
compensation! — his faculty of repetition, 
and of echoing whatever he heard said, 
caused him to murmur “Miff Mayton, Miff 
Mayton,” all morning long, and the sound 
gained in sweetness by its ceaseless iteration. 
To be sure, Budge took early and frequent 
occasions to remind me of my promises of 
the night before, and Toddie occasionally 
these very interruptions only added joy to 
my own topic of interest each time it was 
resumed. The filling of Budge’s orders oc- 
cupied two or three hours and all the vacant 
space in the carriage ; even then the goat and 
goat-carriage were compelled to follow 
behind. 

The programme for the afternoon was 
arranged to the satisfaction of every one. I 
gave the coachman, Mike, half-a-crown to 
harness the goat and teach the children to 
drive him; this left me free to drive off 
without being followed by two small figures 
and two pitiful howls. 

I always believed a horse was infected by 


HELEN’S BABIES 


156 

the spirit of his driver. My dear old four- 
footed military companions always seemed 
to perfectly comprehend my desires and 
intentions, and certainly my brother-in- 
law’s horses entered into my own spirits on 
this particular afternoon. They stepped 
proudly, they arched their powerful necks 
handsomely, their feet seemed barely to 
touch the ground; yet they did not grow 
restive under the bit, nor were they fright- 
ened even at a hideous steam road-rolling 
machine which passed us. As I drove up to 
Mrs. Clarkson’s door I found that most of 
the ladies staying there were on the veran- 
dah — the memories of ladies are usually 
good at times. Alice immediately ap- 
peared, composed, of course, but more 
radiant than ever. 

“Why, where are the boys?” she ex- 
claimed. 

“I was afraid they might annoy your 
mother,” I replied, “so I left them behind.” 

“Oh, mother hardly feels well enough to 
go to-day,” said she; “she is lying down.” 


TWO CARRIAGES 


i57 

“Then we can pick up the boys on the 
road,” said I, for which remark my en- 
chantress, already descending the steps, gave 
me a look which the ladies behind her would 
have given their best switches to have seen. 

We drove off as decorously as if it were 
Sunday, and we were driving to church ; we 
industriously pointed out to each other every 
handsome garden and tasteful residence we 
passed; we met other people driving, and 
conversed fluently upon their horses, car- 
riages, and dress. But when we reached the 
edge of the town, and I turned into “Happy 
Valley,” a road following the depressions 
and curves of a long, well-wooded valley, 
in which there was not a single straight line, 
I turned and looked into my darling’s face. 
Her eyes met mine, and, although they were 
full of happiness which I had never seen 
in them before, they filled with tears, and 
their dear owner dropped her head on my 
shoulder. 

What we said on that long drive would 
not interest the reader. I have learned by 


i$8 HELEN’S BABIES 

experience to skip all love talks in novels; 
no matter how delightful the lovers may be. 
Recalling now our conversation, it does not 
seem to me to have had anything wonderful 
in it. I will only say that if I had been happy 
on the evening before, my happiness now 
seemed to be sanctified ; to be favoured with 
the love and confidence of a simple girl 
scarcely past her childhood is to receive a 
greater honour than court or field can be- 
stow; but even this honour is far surpassed 
by that which comes to a man when a woman 
of rare intelligence, tact, and knowledge of 
society and the world unburdens her heart 
of all its hopes and fears, and unhesitatingly 
leaves her destiny to be shaped by his love. 

Women like Alice Mayton do not thus give 

0 

themselves unreservedly away except when 
their trust is born of knowledge as well as 
affection, and the realization of all this 
changed me on that afternoon from what- 
ever I had been into what I had long hoped 
I might one day be. 

But the hours flew rapidly, and I relue- 


TWO CARRIAGES 159 

tantly turned the horses’ heads homeward. 
We had left almost the whole of “Happy 
Valley” behind us, and were approaching 
residences again. 

“Now we must be very proper,” said 
Alice. 

“Certainly,” I replied, “here’s a good- 
bye to happy nonsense for this afternoon.” 

I leaned toward her, and gently placed 
one arm about her neck; she raised her dear 
face, from which joy and trust had banished 
every indication of caution and reserve, by 
a most unearthly, discordant shriek, which 
prolonged itself indefinitely. The horses 
started, and Alice — blessed be all frights, 
now, henceforth, and for evermore! — clung 
tightly to me. The sounds seemed to be ap- 
proaching us and were accompanied by a 
lively rattling noise that seemed to be made 
by something wooden. Suddenly, as we ap- 
proached a bend of the road, I saw my 
youngest nephew appear from some un- 
known space, describe a parabolic curve in 
the air, ricochet slightly from an earthy 


i6o 


HELEN’S BABIES 


protuberance in the road, and make a final 
stop in the gutter. At the same time there 
appeared, from behind the bend, the goat, 
then the carriage dragging on one side, and, 
lastly, the boy Budge, grasping tightly the 
back of the carriage body, and howling 
frightfully. A direct collision between the 
carriage and a stone caused Budge to loose 
his hold, while the goat, after taking in the 
scene, trotted leisurely off, and disappeared 
on a road leading to the house of his late 
owner. 

“Budge,” I shouted, “stop that bawling, 
and come here. Where’s Mike?” 

“He — boo — hoo — went to — hoo — light 
his — boo — hoo — hoo — pipe, an’ I just let 
the — boo — hoo — whip go against the goat, 
and then he set off.” 

“Nashty old goat set off,” said Toddie, in 
corroboration. 

“Well, walk right home, and tell Mag- 
gie to wash and dress you,” said I. 

“Oh, Harry,” pleaded Alice, “after 
they’ve been in such danger! Come here 


TWO CARRIAGES 


1 6 1 

to your own Aunt Alice, Budgie dear — and 
you too, Toddie — you know you said we 
could pick the boys up on the road, Harry. 
There, there — don’t cry — let me wipe the 
ugly old dirt off you, and kiss the face, and 
make it well.” 

“Alice,” I protested, “don’t let those 
dirty boys clamber all over you in that 
way.” 

“Silence, sir,” said she, with mock dig- 
nity; “who gave me my lover? I should 
like to ask.” 

So we drove up to the boarding-house 
with the air of people who had been de- 
voting themselves to a couple of very dis- 
reputable children, and I drove swiftly 
away again, lest the children should dispel 
the illusion. We soon met Mike, running. 
The moment he recognized us, he shouted: 

“Ah, ye little dhivils — beggin’ yer par- 
don, Mashter Harry, an’ thankin’ the 
Howly Mither that their good-for-nothin’ 
little bones ain’t broke to bits. Av they saw 
a hippypottymus hitched to Pharaoh’s 


162 


HELEN’S BABIES 


chariot, they’d think ’emselves jist the byes 
to take the bossin’ av it, the spalpeens.” 
But no number of ordinary hippopotami 
and chariots could have disturbed the heav- 
enly tranquillity of my mind on this most 
glorious of evenings. Even a subtle sense 
of the fitness of things seemed to over- 
shadow my nephews. Perhaps the touch of 
my enchantress did it; perhaps it came only 
from the natural relapse from great excite- 
ment; but no matter what the reason was, 
the fact remains that for the rest of the 
evening two very dirty suits of clothes held 
two children who gave one some idea of 
how the denizens of Paradise might seem 
and act. They even ate their suppers with- 
out indulging in any of the repulsive ways 
of which they had so large an assortment, 
and they did not surreptitiously remove 
from the table any fragments of bread and 
butter to leave on the piano, in the card- 
basket, and other places, inappropriate to 
the reception of such varieties of abandoned 
property. They demanded a song after 


TWO CARRIAGES 163 

supper, but when I sang, “Drink to me 
only with Thine Eyes,” and “Thou, Thou, 
Reign’st in this Bosom,” they stood by with 
silent tongues and appreciative eyes. When 
they went to bed, I accompanied them by 
special invitation, but they showed no dis- 
position to engage in the usual bedtime 
frolic and miniature pandemonium. Budge, 
when in bed, closed his eyes, folded his 
hands, and prayed: 

“Dear Lord, bless papa, an’ mamma, an’ 
Toddie, an’ Uncle Harry, an’ everybody 
else; yes, an’ bless just lots that lovely, love- 
ly lady that comforted me after the goat 
was bad to me, an’ let her comfort me lots 
of times, for Christ’s sake, Amen.” 

And Toddie wriggled, twisted, breathed 
heavily, threw his head back, and prayed: 
“Dee Lord, don’t let dat old goat fro me 
into de gutter on my head aden, an’ let 
Ocken Hawwy an’ ze pitty lady be dere 
netst time I dets hurted.” 

Then the good-night salutations were ex- 
changed, and I left the little darlings and 


1 64 HELEN’S BABIES 

enjoyed communion with my own thoughts, 
which were as peaceful and ecstatic as if 
the world contained no drapery houses, no 
doubtful customers, no business competi- 
tion, no politics, syndicates, stock-exchanges, 
doubtful banks, political scandals, personal 
iniquity, nor anything which should prevent 
a short holiday from lasting through a long 
life-time. 


CHAPTER IX 


A RAINY DAY— THE MORNING 


V 


CHAPTER IX 


A RAINY DAY — THE MORNING 

T HE next morning would have 
struck terror to the heart of any 
one but a newly-accepted lover. 
Rain was falling fast and in that steady, in- 
dustrious manner which seemed to assert 
an intention to stick closely to business for 
the whole day. The sky was covered by one 
impenetrable leaden cloud, water stood in 
pools in the streets, which were soft with 
dust a few hours before; the flowers all 
hung their heads like vagabonds who had 
been awake all night, and were ashamed to 
face the daylight. Even the chickens stood 
about in dejected attitudes, and stray roost- 
ers from other poultry-yards found refuge 
in Tom’s coop without first being subjected 
to a trial of strength and skill by Tom’s 
game-cock. 


HELEN’S BABIES 


1 68 

But no man in my condition of mind 
could be easily depressed by bad weather. 
I would rather have been able to drive about 
under a clear sky, or lounge under the trees, 
or walk to the post-office in the afternoon 
by the road which passed directly in front 
of Mrs. Clarkson’s boarding-house; but 
man should not live for himself alone. In 
the room next mine were slumbering two 
wee people to whom I owed a great deal, 
and who would mourn bitterly when they 
saw the condition of the skies and ground 
— I would devote myself to the task of mak- 
ing them so happy that they would forget 
the absence of sunshine out of doors — I 
would sit by their bedside and have a story 
ready for them the moment they awoke, 
and put them in such a good humour that 
they could laugh, with me, at cloud and 
rain. 

I began at once to construct a story for 
their especial benefit; the scene was to be 
a country residence on a rainy day, and the 
actors two little boys who should become 


A RAINY DAY— MORNING 169 

uproariously jolly in spite of the weather. 
Like most people not used to story-making, 
my progress was not very rapid; in fact, I 
had got no further than the plot indicated 
above when an angry snarl came from the 
children’s room. 

“What’s the matter, Budge?” I shouted, 
dressing myself as rapidly as possible. 

“Ow — 00 — ya — ny — um — boo — gaa,” 
was the somewhat complicated response. 
“What did you say, Budge?” 

“Didn’t say noffin’.” 

“Oh — that’s what I thought” 

“Didn’t thought.” 

“Budge — Budge — be good.” 

“Don’t want to be good — ya — A — A.” 
“Let’s have some fun, Budge — don’t you 
want to frolic?” 

“No; I don’t think frolics is nice.” 
“Don’t you want some candy, Budge?” 
“No — you ain’t got no candy, I bleeve.” 
“Well, you shan’t have any if you don’t 
stop being so cross.” 

The only reply to this was a mighty and 


HELEN’S BABIES 


170 

audible rustling of the bedding in the boys’ 
room, followed by a sound strongly resem- 
bling that caused by a slap; then came a 
prolonged wail, resembling that of an un- 
greased waggon-wheel. 

“What’s the matter, Toddie?” 

“Budge s’apped me — ah — h — h — h!” 
“What made you slap your brother, 
Budge?” 

“I didn't" 

“You did," screamed Toddie. 

“I tell you I didn’t — you’re a naughty, 
bad boy to tell such lies, Toddie.” 

“What did you do, Budge?” I asked. 
“Why — why — I was — I was turnin’ over 
in bed, an’ my hand was out, and it tumbled 
against Toddie— -that’s what.” 

By this time I was dressed and in the 
boys’ room. Both my nephews were sitting 
up in bed, Budge looking as sullen as an 
old gaol-bird, and Toddie with tears stream- 
ing all over his face. 

“Boys,” said I, “don’t be angry with each 
other — it isn’t right. What do you sup- 


A RAINY DAY— MORNING 171 

pose the Lord thinks when He sees you so 
cross to each other?” 

“He don’t think noffin’,” said Budge; 
“you don’t think he can look through a 
black sky like that, do you?” 

“He can look anywhere, Budge, and He 
feels very unhappy when He sees little 
brothers angry with each other.” 

“Well, I feel unhappy, too — I wish there 
wasn’t never no old rain, nor nothin’.” 
“Then what would the plants and flowers 
do for a drink, and where would the rivers 
come from for you to go sailing on?” 
“An’ wawtoo to mate mud-pies,” added 
Toddie. “You’s a naughty boy, Bodgie;” 
and here Toddie’s tears began to flow afresh. 

“I ain’t a bad boy, an’ I don’t want no old 
rain nohow, an’ that’s all about it. An’ I 
don’t want to get up, an’ Maggie must bring 
me up my brekbux in bed.” 

“Boo — hoo — 00,” wept Toddie, “wants 
my brepspup in bed, too.” 

“Boys,” said I, “now listen. You can’t 
have any breakfast at all unless you are up 


172 


HELEN’S BABIES 


and dressed by the time the bell rings. The 
bell to call you rang some time ago. Now 
dress like good boys, and you shall have 
some breakfast, and then you’ll feel a great 
deal nicer, and then Uncle Harry will play 
with you and tell you stories all day long.” 
Budge crept reluctantly out of bed, and 
caught up one of his stockings, while Tod- 
die again began to cry. 

“Toddie,” I shouted, “stop that dreadful 
racket, and dress yourself. What are you 
crying for?” 

“Well, I feelsh bad.” 

“Well, dress yourself and you’ll feel bet- 
ter.” 

“Wantsh you to djesh me.” 

“Bring me your clothes then — quick!” 
Again the tears flowed copiously. “Don’t 
want to bring ’em,” said Toddie. 

“Then come here!” I shouted, dragging 
him across the room, and snatching up his 
tiny articles of apparel. I had dressed no 
small children since I was rather a small 
boy myself, and Toddie’s clothing confused 


A RAINY DAY— MORNING 173 

me somewhat. I finally got something on 
him, when a contemptuous laugh from 
Budge interrupted me. 

“How you goin’ to. put his shirt on under 
them things?” queried my oldest nephew. 

“Budge,” I retorted, “how are you going 
to get any breakfast if you don’t put on 
something besides that stocking?” 

The young man’s countenance fell, and 
just then the breakfast-bell rang. Budge 
raised a blank face, hurried to the head of 
the stairs, and shouted: 

“Maggie !” 

“What is it, Budge?” 

“Was — was that the bell to call us, or 
the breakfast-bell?” 

“ ’Twas the breakfast-bell.” 

There was dead silence for a moment, and 
then Budge shouted: 

“Well, we’ll call that the bell to call us. 
You can ring another bell for breakfast 
pretty soon when I get dressed.” Then this 
volunteer adjuster of household affairs came 
calmly back and commenced dressing in 


174 


HELEN’S BABIES 


good earnest, while I laboured along with 
Toddie’s wardrobe. 

“Where’s the button-hook, Budge?” 
said I. 

“It’s — I — oh — um — I put it — say, Tod, 
what did you do with the button-hook yes- 
terday?” 

“Didn’t hazh no button-hook,” asserted 
Toddie. 

“Yes, you did; don’t you ’member how 
we was a-playin’ draw teef, an’ the doctor’s 
dog had the toof-ache, and I was pullin’ 
his teef with the button-hook, an’ you was 
my little boy, an’ I gived the toof-puller to 
you to hold for me? Where did you put it?” 

“I J’no,” replied Toddie, putting his 
hand in his pocket and bringing out a sickly- 
looking toad. 

“Feel again,” said I, throwing the toad 
out of the window, where it was followed 
by an agonised shriek from Toddie. Again 
he felt, and his search was rewarded by the 
tension-screw of Helen’s sewing-machine. 
Then I attempted some research myself, and 


A RAINY DAY— MORNING 175 

speedily found my fingers adhering to some- 
thing of a sticky consistency. I quickly 
withdrew my hand, exclaiming: 

“What nasty stuff have you got in your 
pocket, Toddie?” 

“ ’Tain’t nashty stuff — it’s byead an’ 
treacle, an’ it’s nice, an’ Budge an’ me hazh 
little tea-parties in de kicken-coop, an’ we 
eats it, an’ it’s dovely ” 

All this was lucid and disgusting, but ut- 
terly unproductive of button-hooks, and 
meanwhile the breakfast was growing cold. 
I succeeded in buttoning Toddie’s shoes 
with my fingers, splitting most of my nails 
in the operation. I had been too busily en- 
gaged with Toddie to pay any attention to 
Budge, whom I now found about half 
dressed and trying to catch flies on the 
window-pane. Snatching Toddie, I started 
for the dining-room, when Budge remarked 
reprovingly: 

“Uncle Harry, you wasn’t dressed when 
the bell rang, and you oughtn’t to have any 
breakfast.” 


HELEN’S BABIES 


176 

True enough — I was minus collar, cravat, « 
and coat. Hurrying these on, and starting 
again, I was once more arrested: 

“Uncle Harry, must I brush my teeth 
this morning?” 

u No — make haste — come down without 
doing anything more if you like, but come 
— it’ll be dinner-time before we get break- 
fast.” 

Then that imp was moved, for the first 
time that morning, to something like good- 
nature, and he exclaimed, with a giggle: 
“My! What big stomachs we’d have 
when we got done, wouldn’t we?” 

At the breakfast-table Toddie wept again, 
because I insisted on beginning operations 
before Budge came. Then neither boy knew 
exactly what he wanted. Then Budge man- 
aged to upset the contents of his plate into 
his lap, and while I was helping him clear 
away the debris, Toddie improved the op- 
portunity to pour his milk upon his fish, 
and put several spoonfuls of oat-meal por- 
ridge into my coffee-cup. I made an early 


A RAINY DAY— MORNING 177 

excuse to leave the table and turn the chil- 
dren over to Maggie. I felt as tired as if 
I had done a hard day’s work, and was 
somewhat appalled at realising that the day 
had barely begun. I lit a cigar and sat 
down to Helen’s piano. I am not a musi- 
cian, but even the chords of a barrel-organ 
would have seemed sweet music to me on 
that morning. The music-book nearest to 
my hand was a church hymn-book, and the 
first air my eye struck was “Greenville.” 
I lived once in a town where, on a single 
day, a pedlar disposed of thirty-eight ac- 
cordions, each with an instruction-book, in 
which this same air, under its original name, 
was the only air. For years after a single 
bar of this air awakened the most melan- 
choly reflections in my mind, but now I for- 
gave all my musical tormentors as the fa- 
miliar strains came comfortingly from the 
piano-keys. But suddenly I heard an ac- 
companiment— a sort of reedy sound — and, 
looking around, I saw Toddie again in tears. 
I stopped abruptly and asked: 


HELEN’S BABIES 


178 

“What’s the matter now , Toddie?” 

“Don’t want dat old tune ; wantsh dancing 
tune, so I can dance.” 

I promptly played “Yankee Doodle,” and 
Toddie began to trot around the room with 
the expression of a man who intended to 
do his whole duty. Then Budge appeared, 
hugging a bound volume of “St. Nicholas.” 
The moment Toddie espied this he stopped 
dancing and devoted himself anew to the 
task of weeping. 

“Toddie,” I shouted, springing from the 
piano-stool. “What do you mean by cry- 
ing at everything? I shall have to put you 
to bed again, if you’re going to be such a 
baby.” 

“That’s the way he always does, rainy 
days,” explained Budge. 

“Wantsh to see the whay-al what fwal- 
lowed Djonah,” sobbed Toddie. 

“Can’t you demand something that’s 
within the range of possibility, Toddie?” 
I mildly asked. 

“The whale Toddie means is in this big 



Copyright, 1921, by Frederick A. Stokes Company 

“TODDIE BEGAN TO TROT AROUND THE ROOM WITH 
THE EXPRESSION OF A MAN WHO INTENDED 
TO DO HIS WHOLE DUTY” 


■Page 2/8 













































A RAINY DAY— MORNING 179 

red book — I’ll find it for you,” said Budge, 
turning over the leaves. 

Suddenly a rejoicing squeal from Toddie 
announced that leviathan had been found, 
and I hastened to gaze. He was certainly 
a dreadful-looking animal, but he had an 
enormous mouth, which Toddie caressed 
with his pudgy little hand, and kissed with 
tenderness, murmuring as he did so: 

“D ee old whay-al, I loves you. Is Jonah 
all gonedid out of you ’tomach, whay-al? 
I finks ’twas werry mean in Djonah to get 
froed up when you hadn’t noffin’ else to 
eat, poor old whay-al.” 

“Of course Jonah’s gone,” said Budge, “he 
went to heaven long ago — pretty soon after 
he went to Nineveh an’ done what the Lord 
told him to do. Now, swing us, Uncle 
Harry.” 

The swing was on the verandah, under 
cover from the rain ; so I obeyed. Both boys 
fought for the right to swing first, and when 
I decided in favour of Budge, Tpddie went 
off weeping, and declaring that he would 


i8o 


HELEN’S BABIES 


look at his dear whay-al anyhow. A mo- 
ment later his wail changed to a piercing 
shriek; and, running to his assistance, I saw 
him holding one finger tenderly and tram- 
pling on a wasp. 

“What’s the matter, Toddie?” 

“Oo — oo — ee — ee — ee — ee — I putted my 
finger on a waps, and — oo — oo — the nasty 
old waps — oo — bited me. An’ I don’t like 
wapses a bit, but I likes whay-als — oo — ee 
— ee.” 

A happy thought struck me. “Why don’t 
you boys make believe that big packing-box 
in your play-room is a whale,” said I. 

A compound shriek of delight followed 
the suggestion, and both boys scrambled up- 
stairs, leaving me a free man again. I looked 
remorsefully at the tableful of books which 
I had brought to read, and had not looked 
at for a week. Even now my remorse did 
not move me to open them — I found my- 
self instead attracted towards Tom’s library, 
and conning the titles of novels and volumes 
of poems. My eye was caught by “Initials” 


A RAINY DAY— MORNING 181 


— a love-story which I had always avoided 
because I had heard impressible young 
ladies rave about it; but now I picked it 
up and dropped into an easy-chair. Sud- 
denly I heard Mike the coachman shouting: 
“Go way from there, will ye? Ah, ye little 
spalpeen, it’s good for ye that yer fadher 
don’t see ye perched up dhere. Go way 
from dhat, or I’ll be tellin’ yer uncle.” 

“Don’t care for nashty old uncle,” piped 
Toddie’s voice. 

I laid down my book with a sigh and 
went into the garden. Mike saw me and 
shouted : 

“Misther Burthon, will ye look dhere? 
Did yes ever see the loike av dhat bye?” 

Looking up at the play-room window — a 
long, narrow sort of loophole in a Gothic 
gable^— I beheld my youngest nephew 
standing upright on the sill. 

“Toddie, go in — quick!” I shouted, hur- 
rying under the window to catch him in 
case he fell outward. 

“I tan’t,” squealed Toddie. 


HELEN’S BABIES 


182 

“Mike, run upstairs and snatch him in! 
Toddie, go in, I tell you!” 

“Tell you I tan’t doe in,” repeated Tod- 
die. “Ze bid bots ish de whay-al, an’ I’ze 
Djonah, an’ ze whay-al’s froed me up, and 
I’ze dot to ’tay up here else ze whay-al ’ill 
fwallow me aden.” 

“I won’t let him swallow you. Get in, 
now — be quick,” said I. 

“Will you give him a penny not to fwal- 
low me no more?” queried Toddie. 

“Yes — a whole lot of pennies.” 

“Aw wight. Whay-al don’t you fwallow 
me no more, an’ zen my Ocken Hawwy div 
you whole lots of pennies. You must be 
werry dood whay-al now, an’ then I buys 

you some tandy wif your pennies, an’ ” 

Just then two great hands seized Tod- 
die’s frock in front, and he disappeared 
with a howl, while I, with the first feeling 
of faintness I had ever experienced, went 
in search of hammer, nails, and some strips 
of boards, to nail on the outside of the win- 
dow-frame. But boards could not be found, 


A RAINY DAY— MORNING 183 

so I went up to the play-room and began 
to knock a piece or two off the box which 
had done duty as a whale. A pitiful scream 
from Toddie caused me to stop. 

“You’re hurtin’ my dee old whay-al; 
you’s brakin’ his ’tomach all open — you’s a 
baddy man — ’ top hurtin’ my whay-al, ee — 
ee- — ee,” cried my nephew. 

“I’m not hurting him, Toddie,” said I; 
“I’m making his mouth bigger, so he can 
swallow you easier.” 

A bright thought came into Toddie’s face, 
and shone through his tears. “Then he can 
fwallow Budgie, too, an’ there’ll be two 
Djonahs — ha — ha — ha! Make his mouf so 
big he can fwallow Mike, an’ zen make it 
’ittle aden, so Mike tan’t det out: nashty 
old Mike!” 

I explained that Mike would not come 
upstairs again, so I was permitted to depart 
after securing the window. 

Again I settled myself with book and 
cigar; there was at least for me the extra 
enjoyment that comes from the sense of 


HELEN’S BABIE 


184 

pleasure earned by honest toil. Pretty soon 
Budge entered the room. I affected not to 
notice him, but he was not in the least 
abashed by my neglect. 

“Uncle Harry,” said he, throwing him- 
self in my lap between my book and me, “I 
don’t feel nice at all.” 

“What’s the matter, old fellow?” I asked. 
Until he spoke I could have boxed his ears 
with great satisfaction to myself; but there 
is so much genuine feeling in whatever 
Budge says that he commands respect. 

“Oh, I’m tired of playing with Toddie, 
an’ I feel lonesome. Won’t you tell me a 
story?” 

“Then what’ll poor Toddie do, Budge?” 

“Oh, he won’t mind — he’s got a dead 
mouse to be Jonah now, so I don’t have no 
fun at all. Won’t you tell me a story?” 

“Which one?” 

“Tell me one that I never heard before 
at all.” 

“Well, let’s see; I think I’ll tell ” 


“Ah — ah — ah — ah — ee — ee — ee!” sound- 


A RAINY DAY— MORNING 185 

ed afar off, but fatefully. It came nearer 
— it came down the stairway and into the 
library, accompanied by Toddie, who, on 
spying me dropped his inarticulate utter- 
ance, held up both hands, and exclaimed: 
“Djonah! bwoke he tay-al !” 

True enough; in one hand Toddie held 
the body of a mouse, and in the other that 
animal's caudal appendage; there was also 
perceptible, though not by the sense of 
sight, an objectionable odour in the room. 

“Toddie,” said I, “go throw Jonah into 
the chicken-coop, and I’ll give you some 
candy.” 

“Me too,” shouted Budge, “ ’cos I found 
the mouse for him.” 

I made both boys happy with candy, ex- 
acted a pledge not to go out in the rain, 
and then, turning them loose on the veran- 
dah, returned to my book. I had read per- 
haps half-a-dozen pages when there arose 
and swelled rapidly in volume a scream 
from Toddie. Madly determined to put 
both boys into chairs, tie them fast, and 


HELEN’S BABIES 


r 86 

clap adhesive plaster over their mouths, I 
rushed out upon the verandah. 

“Budgie tried to eat my candy,” com- 
plained Toddie. 

“I didn’t,” said Budge. 

“What did you do?” I demanded. 

“I didn’t bite it at all — I only wanted to 
see how it would feel between my teeth — 
that’s all.” 

I felt the corners of my mouth breaking 
down, and hurried back to the library, 
where I spent a quiet quarter of an hour in 
pondering over the demoralizing influence 
exerted upon principle by a sense of the 
ludicrous. For some time afterwards the 
boys got along without doing anything 
worse than make a dreadful noise, which 
caused me to resolve to find some method 
of deadening verandah floors if I ever 
owned a house in the country. In the occa- 
sional intervals of comparative quiet I 
caught snatches of very funny conversation. 
The boys had coined a great many words 
whose meaning was evident enough, but I 


A RAINY DAY— MORNING 187 

wondered greatly why Tom and Helen had 
never taught them the proper substitutes. 

Among others was the word “deader,” 
whose meaning I could not imagine. Budge 
shouted : 

“Oh, Tod! there comes a deader. See 
where all them things like rooster’s tails are 
a-shakin’? Well, there’s a deader under 
them.” 

“Datsh funny,” remarked Toddie. 

“An’ see all the peoples a-comin’ along,” 
continued Budge, “they know ’bout the 
deader, an’ they’re goin’ to see it put away. 
Here it comes. Hello, deader!” 

“Hay-oh, deader!” echoed Toddie 

What could deader mean? 

“Oh, here it is right in front of us!” cried 
Budge, “and ain't there lots of people? An’ 
two horses to pull the deader — some dead- 
ers has only one.” 

My curiosity was too much for my weari- 
ness; I went to the front window, and, peer- 
ing through, saw — a funeral procession! In 
a second I was on the verandah, with my 


HELEN’S BABIES 


1 88 

hands on the children’s collars; a second 
later two small boys were on the floor of 
the hall, the front door was closed, and two 
determined hands covered two threatening 
little mouths. 

When the procession had fairly passed 
the house I released the boys and heard 
two prolonged howls for my pains. Then 
I asked Budge if he wasn’t ashamed to talk 
that way when a funeral was passing. 

“ ’T wasn't a funeral,” said he. “ ’Twas 
only a deader, an’ deaders can’t hear 
nothin’.” 

“But the people in the carriages could,” 
said I. 

“Well,” said he, “they was so glad that 
the other part of the deader had gone to 
heaven that they didn’t care what I said. 
Ev’rybody’s glad when the other parts of 
deaders go to heaven. Papa told me to be 
glad that dear little Phillie was in heaven, 
an’ I was, but I do want to see him again 
awful.” 

“Wantsh to shee Phillie aden awfoo,” 


A RAINY DAY— MORNING 189 

said Toddie, as I kissed Budge and hurried 
of! to the library, unfit just then to admin- 
ister further instruction or reproof. Of one 
thing I was very certain — I wished the rain 
would cease falling, so that the children 
could go out of doors, and I could get a 
little rest, and freedom from responsibil- 
ity. But the skies showed no signs of being 
emptied, the boys were standing on the 
stairs, and I was losing my temper rapidly. 



CHAPTER X 


A RAINY DAY— THE AFTERNOON 


CHAPTER X 


A RAINY DAY — THE AFTERNOON 

W HAT to do with the children I 
could not imagine, when sud- 
denly I bethought me of one of 
the delights of my own childish days — the 
making of scrap-books. One of Tom’s li- 
brary drawers held a great many illustrated 
periodicals. Of course Helen meant to 
have them bound, but I could easily repur- 
chase the numbers for her; they would cost 
ten or twelve shillings; but peace was cheap 
at that price. On a high shelf in the play- 
room I had seen some supplementary vol- 
umes of “Mercantile Agency” reports, 
which would in time reach the rag-bag; 
there was a bottle of gum in the library- 
desk, and the children owned an old pair 
of scissors. Within five minutes I had 

settled two happy children on the bath- 

193 


194 


HELEN’S BABIES 


room floor, taught them to cut out pictures 
(which operation I quickly found they 
understood as well as I did) and to paste 
them into the extemporised scrap-book. 
Then I left them, recalling something from 
Newman Hall's address on “The Dignity 
of Labour.” Why hadn't I thought before 
of showing my nephews some way of occu- 
pying their minds and hands? Who could 
blame the helpless little things for follow- 
ing every prompting of their unguided 
minds? Had I not a hundred times been 
told, when sent to the wood-stack or the 
weediest part of the garden in my youthful 
days, that 

“Satan finds some mischief still 
For idle hands to do”? 

Never again would I blame children for 
being mischievous when their minds were 
neglected. 

I spent a peaceful, pleasant hour over 
my novel, when I felt that a fresh cigar 
would be acceptable. Going upstairs in 
search of one, I found that Budge had 


A RAINY DAY— AFTERNOON 195 

filled the bath-tub with water, and was 
sailing boats, that is, hair-brushes. Even 
this seemed too mild an offence to call for 
a rebuke, so I passed on without disturbing 
him, and went to my own room. I heard 
Toddie’s voice, and having heard from my 
sister that Toddie’s conversations with him- 
self were worth listening to, I paused out- 
side the door. I heard Toddie softly 
murmur: 

“Zere, pitty yady, ’tay zere. Now, ’ittle 
boy, I put you wif your mudder, tause 
mudders likes zere ’ittle boys wif ’em. An’ 
you s’all have ’ittle sister tudder side of 
you — zere. Now ’ittle boy’s an’ ’ittle girl’s 
mudder, don’t you feel happy? — isn’t I 
awfoo good to give you your ’ittle tsil- 
drens? You ought to say, ‘Fank you, Tod- 
die — you’s a nice, sweet ’ittle djentleman.’ ” 

I peered cautiously — then I entered the 
room hastily. I didn’t say anything for a 
moment, for it was impossible to do jus- 
tice, impromptu, to the subject. Toddie 
had a progressive mind — if pictorial orna- 


196 HELEN’S BABIES 

mentation was good for old books, why 
should not similar ornamentation be ex- 
tended to objects more likely to be seen? 
Such may not have been Toddie’s line of 
thought, but • his recent operations war- 
ranted such a supposition. He had cut out 
a number of pictures, and pasted them 
upon the wall of my room — my sister’s 
darling room, with its walls tinted exquis- 
itely in pink. As a member of a hanging 
committee, Toddie would hardly have sat- 
isfied taller people, but he had arranged 
the pictures quite regularly, at about the 
height of his own eyes, had favoured no 
one artist more than another, and had hung 
indiscriminately figure pieces, landscapes, 
and genre pictures. The temporary break 
of wall-line, occasioned by the door com- 
municating with his own room, he had 
overcome by closing the door and carrying 
a line of pictures across its lower panels. 
Occasionally a picture fell off the wall, 
but the gum remained faithful, and glist- 
ened with its fervour of devotion. And 


A RAINY DAY— AFTERNOON 197 

yet so untouched was I by this artistic dis- 
play, that when I found strength to shout 
“Toddie!” it was in a tone which caused 
this industrious amateur decorator to start 
violently, and drop his gum-bottle, open 
end first, upon the carpet. 

“What will mamma say?” I asked. 

Toddie gazed, first blankly and then in- 
quiringly, into my face; finding no answer 
or sympathy there, he burst into tears, and 
replied: 

“I dunno.” 

The ringing of the lunch-bell changed 
Toddie from a tearful cherub into a very 
practical, business-like boy, and, shouting, 
“Come on, Budge!” he hurried downstairs, 
while I tormented myself with wonder as 
to how I could best and most quickly undo 
the mischief Toddie had done. 

I will concede to my nephews the credit 
of keeping reasonably quiet during meals; 
their tongues doubtless longed to be active 
in both the principal capacities of those 
useful members, but they had no doubt as 


198 HELEN’S BABIES 

to how to choose between silence and 
hunger. The result was a reasonably com- 
fortable half-hour. Just as I began to cut 
a melon, Budge broke the silence by ex- 
claiming: 

“Oh, Uncle Harry, we haven’t been out 
to see the goat to-day!” 

“Budge,” I replied, “I’ll carry you out 
there under an umbrella after lunch, and 
you may play with that goat all the after- 
noon if you like.” 

“Oh, won’t that be nice!” exclaimed 
Budge. “The poor goat! he’ll think I don’t 
love him a bit, ’cause I haven’t been to see 
him to-day. Does goats go to heaven when 
they die, Uncle Harry?” 

“I’m afraid not.” 

“Oh, dear! then Phillie can’t see my goat. 
I’m so awful sorry,” said Budge. 

“/ can see your goat, Budgie,” suggested 
Toddie. 

“Huh!” said Budge, very contemptuous- 
ly. “ You ain’t dead.” 

“Well, I’zhe goin to be dead some day, 


A RAINY DAY— AFTERNOON 199 

an’ zen your nasty old goat shan’t see me a 
bit — see how he like zat .” 

And Toddie made a ferocious attack on 
a slice of melon nearly as large as himself. 

After lunch Toddie was sent to his room 
to take his afternoon nap, and Budge went 
to the barn on my shoulders. I gave Mike 
a dollar, with instructions to keep Budge 
in sight, to keep him from teasing the goat, 
and to prevent his being impaled or butted. 
Then I stretched myself on a lounge, and 
wondered whether only half a day of day- 
light had elapsed since I and the most ador- 
able woman in the world had been so happy 
together. How much happier I would be 
when next I met her! The very torments 
of this rainy day would make my joy seem 
all the dearer and more intense. I dreamed 
happily for a few moments with my eyes 
open, and then somehow they closed, with- 
out my knowledge. What put into my 
mind the wreck-scene from the play of 
David Copperfield, I don’t know, but there 
it came, and in my dream I was sitting in 


200 


HELEN’S BABIES 


a box at the theatre, and taking a proper 
interest in the scene, when it occurred to 
me that the thunder had less of reverbera- 
tion and more woodenness than good stage 
thunder should have. The mental exertion 
I underwent on this subject disturbed the 
course of my nap, but as wakefulness re- 
turned, the sound of the poorly-simulated 
thunder did not cease; on the contrary, it 
was just a noisy, and more hopelessly a 
counterfeit than ever. What could that 
sound be? I stepped through the window 
to the verandah, and the sound was directly 
over my head. I sprang down the terrace 
and out upon the lawn, looked up, and be- 
held my youngest nephew strutting back 
and forth on the zinc roof of the verandah, 
holding over his head a ragged old parasol. 
I roared: 

“Go in, Toddie — this instant!” 

The sound of my voice startled the young 
man so severely that he lost his footing, 
fell, and began to roll towards the edge 
and to scream, both operations being per- 



Copyright, 1921, by Frederick A. Stokes Company 


“MY YOUNGEST NEPHEW STRUTTING BACK AND 
FORTH ON THE ZINC ROOF” 


Page 200 



































A RAINY DAY— AFTERNOON 201 


/ 


formed with great rapidity. I ran to catch 
him as he fell, but the outer edge of the 
shoot was high enough to arrest his prog- 
ress, though it had no effect in reducing 
the volume of his howls. 

“Toddie,” I shouted, “lie perfectly still 
until uncle can get to you. Do you hear?” 

“Ess, but I don’t want to lie ’till,” came 
in reply from the roof. “Tan’t shee noffin’ 
but sky an’ rain.” 

“Lie still,” I reiterated, “or I’ll whip 
you dreadfully.” Then I dashed upstairs, 
removed my shoes, climbed out and rescued 
Toddie, shook him soundly, and then shook 
myself. 

“I wazh only djust pyayin’ mamma, and 
walkin’ in ze yain wif an umbayally,” 
Toddie explained. 

I threw him upon his bed and departed. 
It was plain that neither logic, threats, nor 
the presence of danger could keep this 
dreadful child from doing whatever he 
chose; what other means of restraint could 
be employed? Although not as religious 


202 


HELEN’S BABIES 


a man as my good mother could wish, I 
really wondered whether prayer, as a last 
resort, might not be effective. For his 
good, and my own peace, I would cheer- 
fully have read through the whole Prayer- 
book. I could hardly have done it just 
then, though, for Mike solicited an audi- 
ence at the back-door, and reported that 
Budge had given the carriage-sponge to 
the goat, put handfuls of oats into the 
pump-cylinder, pulled hairs out of the 
black mare’s tail, and with a sharp nail 
drawn pictures on the enamel of the car- 
riage body. Budge made no denial, but 
looked very much aggrieved, and remarked 
that he couldn’t never be happy without 
somebody having to go get bothered; and 
he wished there wasn’t nobody in the world 
but organ-grinders and sweet-stuff men. 
He followed me into the house, flung him- 
self into a chair, put on a look which I 
imagine Byron wore before he was old 
enough to be malicious, and exclaimed: 

“I don’t see what little boys was made 


A RAINY DAY— AFTERNOON 203 

for, anyhow; if ev’rybody gets cross with 
them, an 1 don’t let ’em do what they want 
to. I’ll answer for it, that when I get to 
heaven, the Lord won’t be as cross to me as 
Mike is — an’ some other folks, too. I wish 
I could die and be buried straight off — me 
an’ the goat — an’ go to heaven, where we 
wouldn’t be scolded.” 

Poor little fellow! First I laughed in- 
wardly at his idea of heaven, and then I 
wondered whether my own was very dif- 
ferent from it, or any more creditable. I 
had no time to spend even in pious reflec- 
tion, however. Budge was quite wet, his 
shoes were soaking, and he already had an 
attack of catarrh; so I took him to his room 
and re-dressed him, wondering all the 
while how much similar duties my own 
father had had to do by me had shortened 
his life and how, with such a son as I was, 
he lived as long as he did. The idea that 
I was in some slight degree atoning for my 
early sins so filled my thoughts that I did 
not at first notice the absence of Toddie. 


204 


HELEN’S BABIES 


When it did become evident to me that my 
youngest nephew was not in the bed in 
which I had placed him, I went in search 
of him. He was in none of the chambers, 
but hearing gentle murmurs issue from a 
long light closet, I looked in and saw Tod- 
die sitting on the floor and eating the cheese 
out of a mousetrap. A squeak of my boots 
betrayed me, and Toddie, equal to the 
emergency, sprang to his feet and ex- 
claimed : 

“I didn’t hurt de ’ittle mousie one bittie; 
I just letted him out and he runded away.” 

And still it rained. Oh, for a single hour 
of sunlight, so that the mud might be only 
damp dirt, and the children could play 
without tormenting other people! But it 
was not to be; slowly, and by the aid of 
songs, stories, an improvised menagerie, in 
which I personated every animal, besides 
playing ostrich and armadillo, and a great 
many disagreements, the afternoon wore to 
its close, and my heart slowly lightened. 
Only an hour or two more, and the chil- 


A RAINY DAY— AFTERNOON 205 

dren would be in bed for the night, and 
then I would enjoy, in unutterable measure, 
the peaceful hours which would be mine. 
Even now they were inclined to behave 
themselves; they were tired and hungry, 
and stretched themselves on the floor to 
await dinner. I embraced the opportunity 
to return to my book, but I had hardly read 
a page when a combined crash and scream 
summoned me to the dining-room. On the 
floor lay Toddie, a great many dishes, a 
roast leg of lamb, potatoes, spinach, the 
butter-dish and its contents, and several 
other misplaced edibles. One thing was 
quite evident; the scalding contents of the 
gravy-tureen had been emptied on Tod- 
die’s arm, and how severely the poor child 
might be scalded I did not know. I hastily 
slit open his sleeve from wrist to shoulder, 
and found the skin very red; so, remem- 
bering my mother’s favourite treatment for 
scalds and burns, I quickly spread the con- 
tents of a dish of mashed potato on a clean 
handkerchief, and wound the whole around 


206 


HELEN’S BABIES 


Toddie’s arm as a poultice. Then I de- 
manded an explanation. 

“I was only djust reatchin’ for a pieshe 
of bwed,” sobbed Toddie, “an’ then the bad 
old tabo beginded to froe all its fings at 
me, an’ tumble down bang.” 

He undoubtedly told the truth as far as 
he knew it; but reaching over tables is a 
bad habit in small boys, especially when 
their mothers cling to old-fashioned heir- 
looms of tables, which have folding leaves; 
so I banished Toddie to his room, dinner- 
less, to think of what he had done. With 
Budge alone, I had a comfortable dinner 
off the salvage from the wreck caused by 
Toddie, and then I went upstairs to see if 
the offender had repented. It was hard to 
tell, by sight, whether he had or not, for 
his back was td me, as he flattened his nose 
against the window, but I could see that 
my poultice was gone. 

“Where is what uncle put on your arm, 
Toddie?” I asked. 

“I eat it up,” said the truthful youth, 


A RAINY DAY— AFTERNOON 207 

“Did you eat the handkerchief too?” 

“No; I froed nasty old handkerchief out 
the window — don’t want dirty old hand- 
kerchiefs in my nice ’ittle room.” 

I was so glad that his burn had been 
slight that I forgave the insult to my hand- 
kerchief, and called up Budge, so that I 
might at once get both boys into bed, and 
emerge from the bondage in which I had 
lived all day long. But the task was no 
easy one. Of course my brother-in-law, 
Tom Lawrence, knows better than any 
other man the necessities of his own chil- 
dren, but no children of mine shall ever 
be taught so many methods of imposing 
upon parental good-nature. Their pro- 
gramme called for stories, songs, moral, 
conversation, frolics, the presentation of 
pennies, the dropping of the same, at long 
intervals, into tin savings banks, followed 
by a deafening shaking up of both banks; 
then a prayer must be offered, and no con- 
ventional one would be tolerated; then the 
boys performed their own devotions, after 


208 


HELEN’S BABIES 


which I was allowed to depart with an 
interchange of “God bless you’s.” As this 
evening I left the room with their innocent 
benedictions sounding in my ears, a sense of 
personal weakness, induced by the events 
of the day, moved me to fervently respond 
“Amen !” 

Mothers of boys, accept from me a trib- 
ute of respect which no words can fitly 
express — of wonder greater than any of the 
great things of the world ever inspired — 
of adoration as earnest and devout as the 
Papist pays to the Virgin. In a single day 
I, a strong man, with nothing else to occupy 
my mind, am reduced to physical and 
mental worthlessness by the necessities of 
two boys not over-mischievous or bad. And 
you — Heaven only knows how! — have un- 
broken weeks, months, years, yes, lifetimes, 
of just such experiences, and with them the 
burden of household cares, of physical ills 
and depressions, of mental anxieties that 
pierce your hearts with as many sorrows as 
grieved the Holy Mother of old. Com- 


A RAINY DAY— AFTERNOON 209 

pared with thy endurance, that of the 
young man, the athlete, is as weakness; 
the secret of thy nerves, wonderful even in 
their weakness, is as great as that of the 
power of the winds. To display decision, 
thy opportunities are more frequent than 
those of the greatest statesman; thy heroism 
laughs into insignificance that of fort and 
field; thou art trained in a school of 
diplomacy such as the most experienced 
court cannot furnish. Do scoffers say thou 
canst not hold the reins of government? 
Easier is it to rule a band of savages than 
to be the successful autocrat of thy little 
kingdom. Compared with the ways of 
men, even thy failures are full of glory. 
Be thy faults what they may, thy one great, 
mysterious, unapproachable success places 
thee, in desert, far above warrior, ruler, 
or priest. 






\ 


CHAPTER XI 
SUNSHINE 


CHAPTER XI 


SUNSHINE 

T HE foregoing soliloquy passed 
through my mind as I lay upon 
the bed where I had thrown my- 
self after leaving the children’s room. 
Whatever else attempted to affect me men- 
tally found my mind a blank until the next 
morning, when I awoke to realize that I 
had dropped asleep just where I fell, and 
that I had spent nearly twelve hours lying 
across a bed in an uncomfortable position 
and without removing my daily attire. My 
next impression was that a bulky letter had 
been pushed under my chamber-door. 
Could it be that my darling? — I hastily 
seized the envelope and found it addressed 
in my sister’s writing, and promising a 
more voluminous letter than that lady had 
ever before honoured me with. I opened 


213 


214 


HELEN’S BABIES 


it, dropping an enclosure, which doubtless 
was a list of necessities which I would 
please pack, etc., and read as follows: 

“July i, 1875. 

“My dear old Brother, — Wouldn't I 
like to give you the warmest of sisterly 
hugs? I can’t believe it, and yet I’m in 
ecstasies over it. To think that you should 
have got that perfection of a girl, who has 
declined so many great catches — you, my 
sober, business-like, unromantic big brother 
— oh, it’s too wonderful! But now I think 
of it, you’re just the people for each other. 
I’d like to say that it’s just what I’d always 
longed for, and that I invited you to Hill- 
crest to bring it about; but the trouble with 
such a story would be that it wouldn’t have 
a word of truth in it. You always did have 
a faculty of doing just what you pleased, 
and what nobody ever expected you to do, 
but now you have exceeded yourself. 

“And to think that my little darlings 
played an important part in bringing it all 


SUNSHINE 


215 


about! I shall take the credit of that , for 
if it hadn’t been for me, who would have 
helped you, sir? I shall expect you to re- 
member both of them handsomely at 
Christmas. 

“I don’t believe I’m guilty of a breach 
of confidence in sending the enclosed, 
which I have just received from my sister- 
in-law that is to be. It will tell you some 
causes of your success of which you, with 
a man’s conceit, haven’t imagined for a 
minute, and it will tell you too of a maid- 
en’s first and natural fear under such cir- 
cumstances — a fear which I know that you, 
with your honest, generous heart, will 
hasten to dispel. As you’re a man, you’re 
quite likely to be too stupid to read what’s 
written between the lines; so I’d better tell 
you that Alice’s fear is that in letting her- 
self go so easily she may have seemed to 
lack proper reserve and self-respect. You 
don’t need to be told that no woman alive 
has more of these very qualities. 

“Bless your dear old heart, Harry — you 


2l6 


HELEN’S BABIES 


deserve to be shaken to death if you’re not 
the happiest man alive. I must hurry home 
and see you both with my own eyes, and 
learn to believe that all this wonderful, 
glorious thing has come to pass. Give 
Alice a sister’s kiss from me (if you know 
how to give more than one kind), and give 
my cherubs a hundred each from the 
mother that wants to see them so much. 

“With love and congratulations, 

“Helen.” 

The other letter, which I opened with 
considerable reverence and more delight, 
ran as follows: 


“HlLLCREST, June 29. 
“Dear friend Helen,— Something has 
happened, and I am very happy; but I 
am more than a little troubled over it, too, 
and as you are one of the persons nearly 
concerned, I am going to confess to you as 
soon as possible. Harry — your brother, I 
mean — will be sure to tell you very soon, 


SUNSHINE 


217 


if he hasn’t done so already, and I want to 
make all possible haste to solemnly assure 
you that / hadn't the slightest idea of such 
a thing coming to pass, and I didn’t do the 
slightest thing to bring it about. 

“I always thought your brother was a 
splendid fellow, and have never been afraid 
to express my mind about him, when there 
was no one but girls to listen. But out here 
I’ve somehow learned to admire him more 
than ever. I cheerfully acquit him of in- 
tentionally doing anything to create a fav- 
ourable impression; if his several appear- 
ances before me have been studied, he is 
certainly the most original being I ever 
heard of. Your children are angels — 
you’ve told me so yourself, and I’ve my 
own very distinct impression on the subject 
— but they don’t study to save their uncle’s 
appearance. The figures that unfortunate 
man has cut several times — well, I won’t 
try to describe them on paper, for fear he 
might some day see a scrap of it, and take 
offence. But he always seems to be patient 


2l8 


HELEN’S BABIES 


with them, and devoted to them, and I 
haven’t been able to keep from seeing that 
a man who could be so lovable with 
thoughtless and unreasonable children must 
be perfectly adorable to the woman he 
loved, if she were a woman at all. Still, I 
hadn’t the faintest idea that I would be the 
fortunate woman. At last the day came, 
but I was in blissful ignorance of what was 
to happen. Your little Charley hurt him- 
self, and insisted upon Har — your brother 
singing an odd song to him; and just when 
the young gentleman was doing the elegant 
to a dozen of us ladies at once too! If you 
could have seen his face! — it was too funny, 
until he got over his annoyance, and began 
to feel properly sorry for the little fellow 
— then he seemed all at once to be all ten- 
derness and heart, and I did wish for a 
moment that conventionalities didn’t exist, 
and I might tell him that he was a model. 
Then your youngest playfully spilt a plate 
of soup on my dress (don’t be worried — 
’twas only a common muslin, and ’twill 


SUNSHINE 


219 


wash). Of course I had to change it, and 
as I retired, the happy thought struck me 
that I’d make so elaborate a toilet that I 
wouldn’t finish in time to join the other 
ladies for the usual evening walk; conse- 
quently, I would have a chance to monopo- 
lize a gentleman for half an hour or more 
— a chance which, no thanks to the gentle- 
men who don’t come to Hillcrest, no lady 
here has had this season. Every time I 
peered through the blinds to see if the other 
girls had started, I could see him, looking 
so distressed, and brooding over those two 
children as if he was their mother, and 
he seemed so good. He seemed pleased to 
see me when I appeared, and coming from 
such a man the implied compliment was 
fully appreciated; everything he said to 
me seemed a little more worth hearing than 
if it had come from any man not so good. 
Then suddenly your eldest insisted on re- 
tailing the result of a conversation he had 
had with his uncle, and the upshot was that 
Harry declared himself; he wasn’t ro- 


220 


HELEN’S BABIES 


mantic a bit, but he was truly straightfor- 
ward and manly, while I was so completely 
taken aback that I couldn’t think of a thing 
to say. Then the impudent fellow kissed 
me, and I lost my tongue worse than ever. 
If I had known anything of his feelings be- 
forehand, I should have been prepared to 
behave more properly; but — Oh, Helen, 
I’m so glad I didn't know! I should be 
the happiest being that ever lived, if I 
wasn’t afraid that you and your, husband 
might think that I had given myself away 
too hastily. As to other people, we will 
see that they don’t know a word about it 
for months to come. 

“Do write that I was not to blame, and 
make believe to accept me as a sister, be- 
cause I can't offer to give Harry up to any 
one else you may have picked out for him. 

“Your sincere friend, 
“Alice Mayton.” 

Was there ever so delightful a reveille? 
All the boyishness in me seemed suddenly 


SUNSHINE 


221 


to come to the surface, and instead of saying 
and doing decorous things which novelists’ 
heroes do under similar circumstances, I 
shouted, “Hurrah!” and danced into the 
children’s room so violently that Budge sat 
up in bed and regarded me with reproving 
eyes, while Toddie burst into a happy laugh 
and volunteered as a partner in the dance. 
Then I realized that the rain was over, and 
the sun was shining — I could take Alice 
out for another drive, and until then the 
children could take care of themselves. I 
remembered suddenly, and with a sharp 
pang, that my holiday was nearly at an end, 
and I found myself consuming with impa- 
tience to know how much longer Alice 
would remain at Hillcrest. It would be 
cruel to wish her in the city before the end 

of August, yet I 

“Uncle Harry,” said Budge, “my papa 
says ’tisn’t nice for folks to sit down an’ go 
to thinkin’ before they’ve brushed their 
hair mornin’s — that’s what he tells me” 

“I beg your pardon, Budge,” said I, 


222 


HELEN’S BABIES 


springing up in some confusion; “I was 
thinking over a matter of a great deal of 
importance.” 

“What was it — my goat?” 

“No — of course not. Don’t be silly, 
Budge.” 

“Well, I think about him a good deal, 
an’ I don’t think it’s silly a bit. I hope 
he’ll go to heaven when he dies. Do angels 
have goat-carriages, Lfncle Harry?” 

“No, dear boy — they can go about with- 
out carriages.” 

“When / goesh to hebben,” said Toddie, 
rising in bed, “I’zhe goin’ to have lots of 
goat-cawidjes an’ I’zhe goin’ to tate all ze 
andjels a widen.” 

With many other bits of prophecy and 
celestial description I was regaled as I 
completed my toilet, and I hurried out of 
doors for an opportunity to think without 
disturbance. Strolling past the poultry- 
yard I saw a meditative tortoise, and, pick- 
ing him up and shouting to my nephews, I 
held the reptile up for their inspection. 


SUNSHINE 


223 


Their sunblinds flew open, and a unani- 
mous, though not exactly a harmonious 
“Oh!” greeted my prize. 

“Where did you get it, Uncle Harry?” 
asked Budge. 

“Down by the hen-coop.” 

Budge’s eyes opened wide; he seemed to 
devote a moment to profound thought, and 
then he exclaimed : 

“Why, I don’t see how the hens could lay 
such a big thing — just put him in your hat 
till I come down, will you?” 

I dropped the tortoise in Budge’s wheel- 
barrow, and made a tour of the flower-bor- 
ders. The flowers, always full of sugges- 
tion to me, seemed suddenly to have new 
charms and powers; they actually impelled 
me to try to make rhymes — me, a steady 
man of business! The impulse was too 
strong to be resisted, though I must admit 
that the results were pitifully meagre: 

“As radiant as that matchless rose 
Which poet-artists fancy; 

As fair as whitest lily-blows; 

As modest as the pansy; 


224 


HELEN’S BABIES 


As pure as dew which hides within 
Aurora’s sun-kissed chalice; 

As tender as the primrosje sweet — 

All this, and more, is Alice.” 

In inflicting this fragment upon the read- 
er, I have not the faintest idea that he can 
discover any merit in it; I quote it only 
that a subsequent experience of mine may 
be more intelligible. When I had composed 
these wretched lines I became conscious 
that I had neither pencil nor paper where- 
with to preserve them. Should I lose them 
— my first self-constructed poem? Never! 
This was not the first time in which I had 
found it necessary to preserve words by 
memory alone. So I repeated my ridicu- 
lous lines over and over again, until the 
eloquent feeling of which they were the 
graceless expression inspired me to accom- 
pany my recital with gestures. Six — eight 
— ten — a dozen — twenty times I repeated 
these lines, each time with additional emo- 
tion and gesture, when a thin voice, very 
near me, remarked: 

“Ocken Hawwy, you does djust as if you 

I 


SUNSHINE 


225 

was swimmink” Turning, I beheld my 
nephew Toddie — how long he had been be- 
hind me I had no idea. He looked earnest- 
ly into my eyes, and then remarked: 

“Ocken Hawwy, your faysh is wed, djust 
like a wosy-posy.” 

‘‘Let’s go in to breakfast, Toddie,” said 
I aloud, as I grumbled to myself about the 
faculty of observation which Tom's chil- 
dren seemed to have. 

Immediately after breakfast I despatched 
Mike with a note to Alice, informing her 
that T would be glad to drive her to the 
Falls in the afternoon, calling for her at 
two. Then I placed myself unreservedly 
at the disposal of the boys for the morning, 
it being distinctly understood that they 
must not expect to see me between lunch 
and dinner. I was first instructed to har- 
ness the goat, which order I obeyed, and I 
afterwards watched that grave animal as he 
drew my nephews up and down the car- 
riage-road, his countenance as demure as 
if he had no idea of suddenly departing 


226 


HELEN’S BABIES 


when my back should be turned. The 
wheels of the goat-carriage uttered the most 
heart-rending noises I had ever heard from 
an ungreased axle; so I persuaded the boys 
to dismount, and submit to the temporary 
unharnessing of the goat, while I should 
lubricate the axles. Half an hour of dirty 
work sufficed, with such assistance as I 
gained from juvenile advice, to accomplish 
the task properly; then I put the horned 
steed into the shafts, Budge cracked the 
whip, the carriage moved off without noise, 
and Toddie began to weep bitterly. 

“Cawwidge is all bwoke,” said he; 
“<wheelsh don’t sing a bittie no more;” 
while Budge remarked: 

“I think the carriage sounds rather lone- 
some now, don’t you, Uncle Harry?” 
“Uncle Harry,” asked Budge, a little 
later in the morning, “do you know what 
makes the thunder?” 

“Yes, Budge — when two clouds go bump 
into each other they make a good deal of 
noise, and they call it thunder.” 


SUNSHINE 


227 


“That ain’t it at all,” said Budge. “When 
it thundered yesterday it was because the 
Lord was riding along through the sky, and 
the wheels of His carriage made an awful 
noise, an’ that was the thunder.” 

“Don’t like nashty old ’funder,” re- 
marked Toddie. “It goesh into our cellar 
an’ makesh all ze milk sour — Maggie said 
so. An’ so I can’t hazh no nice white tea 
for my brepsup.” 

“I should think you’d like the Lord to 
go a-ridin’, Toddie, with all the angels run- 
ning after Him,” said Budge, “even if the 
thunder does make the milk sour. And it’s 
so splendid to see the thunder bang.” 

“How do you see it, Budge?” I asked. 
“Why, don’t you know when the thunder 
bangs, and then you see an awful bright 
place in the sky? — that’s where the Lord’s 
carriage gives an awful pound and makes 
little cracks through the floor of heaven, 
an’ we see right in. But what’s the reason 
we can’t ever see anybody through the 
cracks, Uncle Harry?” 


228 


HELEN’S BABIES 


“I don’t know, old fellow — I think it’s 
because it isn’t cracks in heaven that look 
so bright — it’s a kind of fire that the Lord 
makes up in the clouds. You’ll know all 
about it when you get bigger.” 

“Well, I’ll feel awful sorry if ’tain’t any- 
thing but fire. Do you know that funny 
song my papa sings ’bout: 

“ ‘Roarin’ thunders, lightnin’s blazes, 

Shout the great Creator’s praises’? 

I don’t know ’zackly what it means, but I 
think it’s splendid, don’t you?” 

I did know the old song; I had heard it 
in a negro camp-meeting, when scarcely 
older than Budge, and it left upon my mind 
just the effect it seemed to have done on 
his. I blessed his sympathetic young heart, 
and snatched him into my arms. Instantly 
he became all boy again. 

“Uncle Harry,” he shouted, “you crawl 
on your hands and knees and play you was 
a horse, and I’ll ride on your back.” 

“No, thank you, Budge, not on the dirt” 


SUNSHINE 


229 


“Then let’s play menagerie, an’ you be 
all the animals.” 

To this proposition I assented, and after 
hiding ourselves in one of the retired angles 
of the house, so that no one could know 
who was guilty of disturbing the peace by 
such dire noises, the performance com- 
menced. I was by turns a bear, a lion, a 
zebra, an elephant, dogs of various kinds, 
and a cat. As I personated the latter-named 
animal, Toddie echoed my voice: 

“Miauw! miauw!” said he; “dat’s what 
cats saysh when they goesh down wells.” 
“Faith, an’ it’s him that knows,” re- 
marked Mike, who had invited himself to 
a free seat in the menagerie, and assisted in 
the applause which had greeted each per- 
sonation. “Would ye belave it, Misther 
Harry, dhat young dhivil got out the front 
door one mornin’ afore sunroise, all in his 
little noight-gown, an’ wint over to the doc- 
thor’s an’ picked up a kitten lyin’ on the 
kitchen door-mat, an’ throwed it down dhe 
well. The docthor wasn’t home, but the 


230 


HELEN’S BABIES 


missis saw him, an’ her heart was dhr* tind- 
her dhat she hurried out and throwed boords 
down for dhe poor little baste to stand on, 
an’ let down a hoe on a sthring, an’ whin 
she got dhe poor little dhing out, she was 
dhat faint that she dhrapped on dhe grass. 
An’ it cost Mr. Lawrence nigh onto thirty 
dollars to have the dochtor’s well claned 
out.” 

“Yes,” said Toddie, who had listened 
carefully to Mike’s recital, “an kitty-kitty 
said, ‘Miauw! Miauw!’ when she doed 
down ze well. An’ Mish Doctor sed, ‘Bad 
boy — go home — don’t never turn to my 
housh no more, — dat’s what she said to me.. 
Now be some more animals, Ocken Hawwy. 
Can’t you be a whay-al?” 

“Whales don’t make a noise, Toddie; 
they only splash about in the water.” 

“Zen grop in the cistern an’ ’plash, can’t 
you?” 


CHAPTER XII 


MY POETRY! 












































































CHAPTER XII 

MY POETRY ! 

L UNCH-TIME, and after it the time 
for Toddie to take his nap. Poor 
Budge was bereft of a playmate, for 
the doctor’s little girl was sick; so he quiet- 
ly followed me about with a wistful face, 
that almost persuaded me to take him with 
me on my drive — our drive. Had he grum- 
bled, I would have felt less uncomfortable; 
but there is nothing so touching and over- 
powering as the spectacle of mute resigna- 
tion. At last, to my great relief, he opened 
his mouth. 

“Uncle Harry,” said he, “do you ’spose 
folks ever get lonesome in heaven?” 

“I expect not, Budge.” 

“Do little boy-angels’ papas an’ mammas 
go off visitin’, an’ stay, ever so long?” 

“I don’t exactly know, Budge, but if they 


233 


234 


HELEN’S BABIES 


do, the little boy-angels have plenty of other 
little boy-angels to play with, so they can’t 
very well be lonesome.” 

“Well, I don’t b’leeve they could make 
me happy, when I wanted to see my papa 
an’ mamma. When I haven’t got anybody 
to play with, then I want papa an’ mamma, 
so bad — so bad as if I would die if I didn’t 
see ’em directly.” 

I was shaving, and only half done, but I 
hastily wiped my face, dropped into a chair, 
took the forlorn little boy into my arms, and 
kissed him, caressed him, sympathized with 
him, and devoted myself entirely to the task 
and pleasure of comforting him. His sober 
little face gradually assumed a happier ap- 
pearance; his lips parted in such lines as 
no old master ever put upon angel lips; his 
eyes, from being dim and hopeless, grew 
warm and lustrous and melting. At last 
he said: 

“Uncle Harry, Em ever so happy now. 
An’ can’t Mike go around with me and 
the goat all the time you’re away riding? 


MY POETRY! 


235 

An’ bring us home some candy, an’ mar- 
bles — oh, yes — an’ a new dog.” 

Anxious as I was to hurry off to meet my 
engagement, I was rather disgusted as I 
unseated Budge and returned to my razor. 
So long as he was lonesome and I was his 
only hope, words couldn’t express his devo- 
tion ; but the moment he had, through my 
efforts, regained his spirits, his only use for 
me was to ask further favours. Yet in try- 
ing the poor boy, judicially, the evidence 
was more dangerous to humanity in gen- 
eral than to Budge; it threw a great deal 
of light upon my own peculiar theological 
puzzles, and almost convinced me that my 
duty was to preach a new gospel. 

As I drove up to the steps of Mrs. Clark- 
son’s boarding-house it seemed to me a 
month had elapsed since last I was there, 
and this apparent lapse of time was all that 
prevented my ascribing to miraculous agen- 
cies the wonderful and delightful change 
that Alice’s countenance had undergone in 
two short days. Composure, quickness of 


HELEN’S BABIES 


236 

perception, the ability to guard one’s self, 
are indications of character which are par- 
ticularly in place in the countenance of a 
young lady in society, but when, without 
losing these, the face takes on the radiance 
born of love and trust, the effect is inde- 
scribably charming — especially to the eyes 
of the man who causes the change. Longer, 
more out-of-the-way roads between Hill- 
crest and the Falls I venture to say were 
never known than I drove over that after- 
noon, and my happy companion, who in 
other days I had imagined might one day, 
by her decision, alertness, and force exceed 
the exploits of Lady Baker or Miss Tinne, 
never once asked if I was sure we were on 
the right road. Only a single cloud came 
over her brow, and of this I soon learned 
the cause. 

“Harry,” said she, pressing closer to my 
side, and taking an appealing tone, “do you 
love me well enough to endure something 
unpleasant for my sake?” 

My answer was not verbally expressed, 


MY POETRY! 


237 

but its purport seemed to be understood and 
accepted, for Alice continued: 

“I wouldn’t undo a bit of what’s hap- 
pened — I’m the happiest, proudest woman 
in the world. But we have been very hasty, 
for people who have been mere acquaint- 
ances. And mother is dreadfully opposed 
to such affairs — she is of the old style, you 
know.” 

“It was all my fault,” said I. “I’ll apolo- 
gize promptly and handsomely. The time 
and agony which I didn’t consume in lay- 
ing siege to your heart, I’ll devote to the 
task of gaining your mother’s good graces.” 
The look I received in reply to this re- 
mark would have richly repaid me had my 
task been to conciliate as many mothers-in- 
law as Brigham Young possesses. But her 
smile faded as she said: 

“You don’t know what a task you have 
before you. Mother has a very tender 
heart, but it’s thoroughly fenced in by pro- 
prieties. In her day and set, courtship was 
a very slow, stately affair, and mother be- 


HELEN’S BABIES 


238 

lieves it the proper way now; so do I, but 
I admit possible exceptions, and mother 
doesn’t. I’m afraid she won’t be patient if 
she knows the whole truth, yet I can’t bear 
to keep it from her. I’m her only child, you 
know.” 

"Don't keep it from her,” said I, “unless 
for some reason of your own. Let me tell 
the whole story, take all the responsibility, 
and accept the penalties, if there are any. 
Your mother is right in principle, if there 
is a certain delightful exception that we 
know of.” 

“My only fear is for you ” said my 
darling, nestling closer to me. “She comes 
of a family that can display most glorious 
indignation when there’s a good excuse for 
it, and I can’t bear to think of you being 
the cause of such an outbreak.” 

“I’ve faced the ugliest of guns in honour 
of one form of love, little girl,” I replied; 
“and I could do even more for the senti- 
ment for which you're to blame. And for 
my own sake, Ld rather endure anything 


MY POETRY! 


239 


than a sense of having deceived any one, 
especially the mother of such a daughter. 
Besides, you’re her dearest treasure, and she 
has a right to know of even the least thing 
that in any way concerns you.” 

“And you’re a noble fellow, and ” 

Whatever other sentiment my companion 
failed to put into words, was impulsively 
and eloquently communicated by her dear 
eyes. 

But oh, what a cowardly heart your dear 
cheek rested upon an instant later, fair 
Alice! Not for the first time in my life 
did I shrink and tremble at the realiza- 
tion of what duty imperatively required — 
not for the first time did I go through a 
harder battle than was ever fought with 
sword and cannon, and a battle with great- 
er possibilities of danger than the field ever 
offered. I won it, as a man must do in such 
fights, if he deserves to live; but I could 
not help feeling considerably sobered on 
our homeward drive. 

We neared the house, and I had an in- 


240 HELEN’S BABIES 

sane fancy that instead of driving two horses 
I was astride of one, with spurs at my heels 
and a sabre at my side. 

“Let me talk to her now , Alice, won’t 
you? Delays are only cowardly.” 

A slight trembling at my side — an instant 
of silence that seemed an hour, yet within 
which I could count but six footfalls, and 
Alice replied: 

“Yes; if the parlour happens to be empty, 
I’ll ask her if she won’t go in and see you 
a moment.” Then there came a look full 
of tenderness, wonder, painful solicitude, 
and then two dear eyes filled with tears. 

“We’re nearly there, darling,” said I, 
with a reassuring embrace. 

“Yes, and you sha’n’t be the only hero,” 
said she, straightening herself proudly, and 
looking a fit model for a Zenobia. 

As we passed from behind a clump of 
evergreens which hid the house from our 
view, I involuntarily exclaimed, “Gra- 
cious!” Upon the verandah stood Mrs. 
Mayton; at her side stood my two nephews, 


MY POETRY! 


241 


as dirty in face, in clothing, as I had ever 
seen them. I don’t know but that for a mo- 
ment I freely forgave them, for their pres- 
ence might grant me the respite which a 
sense of duty would not allow me to take. 

“Wezhe corned up to wide home wif 
you,” exclaimed Toddie, as Mrs. Mayton 
greeted me with an odd mixture of cour- 
tesy, curiosity, and humour. Alice led the 
way into the parlour, whispered to her 
mother, and commenced to make a rapid 
exit, when Mrs. Mayton called her back 
and motioned her to a chair. Alice and I 
exchanged sidelong glances. 

“Alice says you wish to speak with me, 
Mr. Burton,” said she. “I wonder whether 
the subject is one upon which I have this 
afternoon received a minute verbal account 
from the elder Master Lawrence.” 

Alice looked blank; I am sure that I did. 
But safety could lie only in action, so I 
stammered out: 

“If you refer to an apparently unwar- 


242 HELEN’S BABIES 

rantable intrusion upon your family circle, 
Mrs. ” 

“I do, sir,” replied the old lady. “Be- 
tween the statements made by that child, 
and the hitherto unaccountable change in 
my daughter’s looks during two or three 
days, I think I have got at the truth of the 
matter. If the offender were any one else, 
I should be inclined to be severe; but we 
mothers of only daughters are apt to have 
a pretty distinct idea of the merits of young 
men, and ” 

The old lady dropped her head; I sprang 
to my feet, seized her hand, and reverently 
kissed it; then Mrs. Mayton, whose only 
son had died fifteen years before, raised her 
head and adopted me in the manner pe- 
culiar to mothers, while Alice burst into 
tears, and kissed us both. 

A few moments later, as three happy peo- 
ple were occupying conventional attitudes, 
and trying to compose faces which should 
bear the inspection of whoever might hap- 


MY POETRY! 


243 

pen to enter the parlour, Mrs. Mayton ob- 
served : 

“My children, between us this matter is 
understood, but I must caution you against 
acting in such a way as to make the engage- 
ment public at once.” 

“Trust me for that,” hastily exclaimed 
Alice. 

“And me,” said I. 

“I have no doubt of the intentions and 
discretion of either of you,” resumed Mrs. 
Mayton, “but you cannot possibly be too 
cautious.” Here a loud laugh from the 
shrubbery under the windows drowned Mrs. 
Mayton’s voice for a moment, but she con- 
tinued: “Servants, children” — here she 

smiled, and I dropped my head — “persons 
you may chance to meet ” 

Again the laugh broke forth under the 
window. 

“What can those girls be laughing at?” 
exclaimed Alice, moving toward the win- 
dow, followed by her mother and me. 

Seated in a semicircle on the grass were 


2 44 


HELEN’S BABIES 


most of the ladies boarding at Mrs. Clark- 
son’s, and in front of them stood Toddie, 
in that high state of excitement to which 
sympathetic applause always raises him. 

“Say it again,” said one of the ladies. 

Toddie put on an expression of profound 
wisdom, made violent gestures with both 
hands, and repeated the following, with fre- 
quent gesticulations: — 

“Azh wadiant azh ze matchless woze 
Zat poeck-artuss fanshy; 

Azh fair azh whitus lily-blowzh ; 

Azh moduss azh a panzhy; 

Azh pure azh dew zat hides wiffin 
Awwahwah’s sun-tissed tsallish ; 

Azh tender azh ze pwimwose fweet 
All zish, and moah, izh Alish.” 

I gasped for breath. 

“Who taught you all that, Toddie?” asked 
one of the ladies. 

“Nobody didn’t taught me — I lyned * it.” 

“When did you learn it?” 

“Lyned it zish mornin’. Ocken Hawwy 
said it over an’ over, an’ over, djust yots of 
timezh, out in ze garden.” 

* Learned. 



Copyright, 1921, by Frederick A. Stokes Company 

“ ‘AZH WADI ANT AZH ZE MATCHLESS WOZE’ ” 


—Page 244 































































* 











MY POETRY! 


245 


The ladies all exchanged glances — my 
lady readers will understand just how, and 
I assure gentlemen that I did not find their 
glances at all hard to read. Alice looked 
at me inquiringly, and she now tells me that 
I blushed sheepishly and guiltily. Poor 
Mrs. Mayton staggered to a chair and ex- 
claimed : 


“Too late! too late!” 



























CHAPTER XIII 


A “TERRIBLE CHILD!” 


CHAPTER XIII 


A “terrible child!” 

C ONSIDERING their recent 
achievements, Toddie and Budge 
were a very modest couple as I 
drove them home that evening. Budge 
even made some attempt at apologizing for 

their appearance, saying that they couldn’t 

# 

find Maggie, and couldn't wait any longer; 
but I assured him that no apology was nec- 
essary. I was in such excellent spirits that 
my feelings became contagious ; and we sang 
songs, told stories, and played ridiculous 
games most of the evening, paying but little 
attention to the dinner that was laid for us. 

“Uncle Harry,” said Budge, suddenly, 
“do you know we haven’t ever sung, 

‘Drown old Pharaoh’s Army, Hallelujah,’ 
since you’ve been here? Let’s do it now.” 


249 


2$0 


HELEN’S BABIES 


“All right, old fellow.” I knew the song 
— such as there was of it — and its chorus, 
as every one does who ever heard the Jubi- 
lee Singers render it; but I scarcely under- 
stood the meaning of the preparations which 
Budge made. He drew a larger rocking- 
chair into the middle of the room, and ex- 
claimed : 

“There, Uncle Harry — you sit down. 
Come along, Tod — you sit on that knee, 
and I’ll sit on this. Lift up both hands, 
Tod, like I do. Now we’re all ready, Un- 
cle Harry.” 

I sang the first line: 

“When Israel was in bondage, they cried unto de 
Lord,” 

* 

without any assistance, but the boys came 
in powerfully on the refrain, beating time 
simultaneously with their four fists upon 
my chest. I cannot think it strange that I 
suddenly ceased singing, but the boys 
viewed my action from a different stand- 
point. 


A “TERRIBLE CHILD!” 


251 

“What makes you stop, Uncle Harry?” 
asked Budge. 

“Because you hurt me very much, my 
boy; you mustn’t do that again.” 

“Why, I fancy you ain’t very strong; 
that’s the way we do to papa, an’ it don’t 
hurt him/' 

Poor Tom! no wonder he grows flat- 
chested. 

“Guesh you’s a ky-baby,” suggested Tod- 
die. 

This imputation I bore with meekness, 
but ventured to remark that it was bed- 
time. After allowing a few moments for 
the usual expressions of dissent, I staggered 
upstairs with Toddie in my arms, and 
Budge on my back, both boys roaring the 
refrain of the negro hymn: 

“I’m a-rolling through an Unfriendly World.” 

The offer of a st’ck of candy to whichever 
boy was first undressed caused some lively 
disrobing, after which each boy received 
the prize. Budge bit a large piece, wedged 


2^2 


HELEN’S BABIES 


it between his cheek and his teeth, closed 
his eyes, folded his hands on his breast, and 
prayed : 

“Dear Lord, bless papa an’ mamma, an’ 
Toddie an’ me, an’ that tortoise Uncle 
Harry found: and bless that lovely lady 
Uncle Harry goes ridin’ with, an’ make ’em 
take me too, an’ bless that nice old lady 
with white hair that cried, and said I was 
a sharp boy. Amen.” 

Toddie sighed as he drew his stick of 
candy from his lips; then he shut his eyes 
and remarked: 

“Dee Lord, blesh Toddie, an’ make him 
a good boy, an’ blesh zem ladies zat told 
me to say it aden;” the particular “it” re- 
ferred to being well understood by at least 
three adults of my acquaintance. 

The course of Budge’s interview with 
Mrs. Mayton was afterwards related by that 
lady as follows: 

She was sitting in her own room (which 
was on the parlour-floor, and in the rear 
of the house), and was leisurely reading 


A “TERRIBLE CHILD!” 


253 


“Fated to be Free,” when she accidentally 
dropped her glasses. Stooping to pick them 
up, she became aware that 'she was not 
alone. A small, very dirty, but good-fea- 
tured boy stood before her, his hands be- 
hind his back, and an inquiring look in his 
eyes. 

“Run away, little boy,” said she. “Don’t 
you know it isn’t polite to enter rooms with- 
out knocking?” 

“I’m lookin’ for my uncle,” said Budge, 
in most melodious accents, “an 1 the other 
ladies said you would know when he would 
come back.” 

“I’m afraid they were making fun of you 
— or me,” said the old lady, a little severely. 
“I don’t know anything about little boys’ 
uncles. Now run away, and don’t disturb 
me any more.” 

“Well,” continued Budge, “they said your 
little girl went with him, and you’d know 
when she would come back.” 

“I haven’t any little girl,” said the old 
lady, her indignation at a supposed joke 


HELEN’S BABIES 


2^4 

threatening to overcome her dignity. “Now 
go away.” 

“She isn’t a very little girl,” said Budge, 
honestly anxious to conciliate; “that is, she’s 
bigger’n I am, but they said you was her 
mother, an’ so she’s your little girl, isn’t 
she? I think she’s lovely too.” 

“Do you mean Miss Mayton?” asked the 
lady, thinking she had a possible clue to 
the cause of Budge’s anxiety. 

“Oh, yes — that’s her name — I couldn’t 
think of it,” eagerly replied Budge. “An’ 
ain’t she AWFUL nice? — I know she is!” 
“Your judgment is quite correct, consid- 
ering your age,” said Mrs. Mayton, exhibit- 
ing more interest in Budge than she had 
heretofore done. “But what makes you 
think she is nice? You are rather younger 
than her male admirers usually are.” 
“Why, my Uncle Harry told me so,” re- 
plied Budge, “an’ he knows everything ” 
Mrs. Mayton grew vigilant at once, and 
dropped her book. 

“Who is your Uncle Harry, little boy?” 


A “TERRIBLE CHILD!” 


255 

u He’s Uncle Harry; don’t you know 
him? He can make nicer whistles than 
my papa can. An 1 he found a tortoise ” 

“Who is your papa?” interrupted the old 
lady. 

“Why, he’s papa — I thought everybody 
knew who he was.” 

“What is your name?” asked Mrs. May- 
ton. 

“John Burton Lawrence,” promptly an- 
swered Budge. 

Mrs. Mayton wrinkled her brows for a 
moment, and finally asked: 

“Is Mr. Burton the uncle you are look- 
ing for?” 

“I don’t know any Mr. Burton,” said 
Budge, a little dazed; “uncle is mamma’s 
brother, an’ he’s been livin’ at our house 
ever since mamma an’ papa went off visitin’, 
an’ he goes ridin’ in our carriage, an’ ” 

“Humph!” remarked the lady, with so 
much emphasis that Budge ceased talking. 
A moment later she said: 


HELEN’S BABIES 


256 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt you, little 
boy; go on.” 

“ An’ he rides with just the loveliest 

lady that ever was. He thinks so, and I 
KNOW she is. An’ he ’spects her.” 
“What?” exclaimed the old lady. 

“ ’Spects her, I say — that’s what he 

says. I say ’spect means just what / call 
love . Cos if it don’t, what makes him give 
her hugs an’ kisses?” 

Mrs. Mayton caught her breath, and did 
not reply for a moment. At last she said: 
“How do you know he — gives her hugs 
and kisses?” 

“Cos I saw him, the day Toddie hurt 
his finger in the grass-cutter. An’ he was 
so happy that he bought me a goat-carriage 
next morning — I’ll show it to you if you 
come down to our stable, an’ I’ll show you 

the goat too. An’ he bought ” 

Just here Budge stopped, for Mrs. May- 
ton put her handkerchief to her eyes. Two 
or three moments later she felt a light touch 
on her knee, and wiping her eyes, saw 


A “TERRIBLE CHILD!” 257 

Budge, looking sympathetically into her 
face. 

“I’m awful sorry you feel ill,” said he. 
“Are you ’fraid to have your little girl ridin’ 
so long?” 

“Yes!” exclaimed Mrs. Mayton, with 
great decision. 

“Well, you needn’t be,” said Budge, “for 
Uncle Elarry’s awful careful an’ sharp.” 

“He ought to be ashamed of himself!” 
exclaimed the lady. 

“I think he is, then,” said Budge, “cos 
he’s ev’rything he ought to be. He’s awful 
careful. T’other day, when the goat ran 
away, an’ Toddie and me got in the car- 
riage with them, he held on to her tight, so 
she couldn’t fall out.” 

Mrs. Mayton brought her foot down with 
a violent stamp. 

“I know you’d ’spect him , if you knew 
how nice he was,” continued Budge. “He 
sings awful funny songs, an’ tells splendid 
stories.” 

“Nonsense!” exclaimed the angry mother. 


HELEN’S BABIES 


258 

“They ain’t no nonsense at all,” said 
Budge. “I don’t t’ink it’s nice for to say 

1 

that, when his stories are always about Jo- 
seph, an’ Abraham, an’ Moses, an’ when 
Jesus was a little boy, an’ the Hebrew chil- 
dren, an’ lots of people that the Lord loved. 
An’ he’s awful ’fectionate too.” 

“Yes, I suppose so,” said Mrs. Mayton. 

“When we says our prayers we prays for 
the nice lady what he ’spects, an’ he likes us 
to do it,” continued Budge. 

“How do you know?” demanded Mrs. 
Mayton. 

“Cos he always kisses us when we do it, 
an’ that’s what my papa does when he likes 
what we pray.” 

Mrs. Mayton’s mind became absorbed in 
earnest thought, but Budge had not said all 
that was in his heart. 

“An’ when Toddie or me tumbles down 
an’ hurts ourselves, ’taint no matter what 
Uncle Harry’s doin’, he runs out an’ picks 
us up, an’ comforts us. He froed away a 
cigar the other day, he was in such a hurry 


A “TERRIBLE CHILD! 1 ’ 


259 

when a wasp stung me, an’ Toddie picked 
the cigar up and eat it, an’ it made him 
awful sick.” 

The last-named incident did not affect 
Mrs. Mayton deeply, perhaps on the score 
of inapplicability to the question before her. 
Budge went on: 

“An’ wasn’t he good to me to-day? Just 
cos I was forlorn, cos I hadn’t nobody to 
play with, an’ wanted to die an’ go to 
heaven, he stopped shavin’, so as to com- 
fort me.” 

Mrs. Mayton had beennhinking rapidly 
and seriously, and her heart had relented 
somewhat towards the principal offender. 

“Suppose,” said she, “that I don’t let my 
little girl go riding with him any more?” 

“Then,” said Budge, “I know he’ll be 
awful, awful unhappy, an’ I’ll be awful 
sorry for him, cos nice folks oughtn’t to be 
made unhappy.” 

“Suppose, then, that I do let her go?” 
said Mrs. Mayton. 

“Then I’ll give you a whole lot of kisses 


260 


HELEN’S BABIES 


for being so good to my uncle,” said Budge. 
And assuming that the latter course would 
be the one adopted by Mrs. Mayton, Budge 
climbed into her lap and began at once to 
make payment. 

“Bless your dear little heart!” exclaimed 
Mrs. Mayton; “you’re of the same blood, 
and it is good, if it is rather hasty.” 

As I rose the next morning, I found a 
letter under my door. Disappointed that 
it was not addressed in Alice’s handwriting, 
I was nevertheless glad to get a word from 
my sister, particularly as the letter ran as 
follows : 


“July ist. 

“Dear OLD Brother,— I’ve been recall- 
ing a fortnight’s experience we once had of 
courtship in a boarding house, and I’ve de- 
termined to cut short our visit here, hurry 
home, and give you and Alice a chance or 
two to see each other in parlours where 
there won’t be a likelihood of the dozen or 
two interruptions you must suffer each eve- 


A “TERRIBLE CHILD!” 261 


ning now. Tom agrees with me, like the 
obedient old darling that he is; so please 
have the carriage at Hillcrest station for 
us at 11.40 Friday morning. Invite Alice 
and her mother for me to dine with us Sun- 
day — we’ll bring them home from church 
with us. 

“Lovingly, your sister, 

“Helen. 

“P.S. — Of course you’ll have my darlings 
in the carriage to receive me. 

“P.P.S . — Would it annoy you to move 
into the best spare room? — I can’t bear to 
sleep where I can’t have them within 
reach.” 

Friday morning they intended to arrive 
— blessings on their thoughtful hearts! — 
and this was Friday. I hurried into the 
boys’ room, and shouted: 

“Toddie! Budge! who do you think is 
coming to see you this morning?” 

“Who?” asked Budge. 


262 


HELEN’S BABIES 


“Organ-grinder?” queried Toddie. 

“No; your papa and mamma.” 

Budge looked like an angel in an instant; 
but Toddie’s eyes twitched a little, and he 
mournfully murmured: 

“I fought it wash an organ-grinder.” 
“Oh, Uncle Harry!” said Budge, spring- 
ing out of bed in a perfect delirium of de- 
light, “I believe if my papa an' mamma had 
stayed away any longer, I believe I would 
die. I've been so lonesome for ’em that I 
haven’t known what to do— I’ve cried whole 
pillowsful about it, right here in the dark.” 
“Why, my poor old fellow,” said I, pick- 
ing him up and kissing him, “why didn’t 
you come and tell Uncle Harry, and let him 
try to comfort you?” 

“I couldn't,” said Budge; “when I gets 
lonesome, it feels as if my mouth was all 
tied up, an’ a great big stone was right in 
here.” And Budge put his hand on his 
chest. 

“If a big ’tone wash inshide of me” said 


A “TERRIBLE CHILD!” 263 

Toddie, “Ed take it out and frovv it at the 
shickens.” 

“Toddie,” said I, “aren’t you glad papa 
an’ mamma are coming?” 

“Yesh,” said Toddie, “I fink it’ll be awfoo 
nish. Mamma always bwings me candy 
fen she goes away anyfere.” 

“Toddie, you’re a mercenary wretch.” 

“Ain’t a mernesary wetch; I ’zhe Toddie 
Yawncie.” 

Toddie made none the less haste in dress- 
ing than his brother, however. Candy was 
to him what some systems of theology are 
to their adherents — not a very lofty motive 
of action, but sweet, and something he could 
fully understand; so the energy displayed 
in getting himself tangled up in his clothes 
was something wonderful. 

“Stop, boys,” said I, “you must have on 
clean clothes to-day. You don’t want your 
father and mother to see you all dirty, do 
you?” 

“Of course not,” said Budge. 

“Oh, izh I goin’ to be djessed up all 


264 HELEN’S BABIES 

nicey?” asked Toddie. “Goody! goody! 
goody!” 

I always thought my sister Helen had an 
undue amount of vanity, and here it was 
reappearing in the second generation. 

“An’ I wantsh my shoes made all nig- 
ger,” said Toddie. 

“What?” 

“Wantsh my shoesh made all nigger wif 
a bottle-bwush, too,” said Toddie. 

I looked appealingly at Budge, who an- 
swered : 

“He means he wants his shoes blacked, 
with the polish that’s in a bottle, an 1 you rub 
it on with a brush.” 

“An’ I wantsh a thath on,” continued 
Toddie. 

“Sash, he means,” said Budge. “He’s 
awful proud.” 

“An’ I’zhe doin’ to wear my takker-hat,” 
said Toddie. “An’ my wed djuvs.” 

“That’s his tassel-hat an’ his red gloves,” 
continued the interpreter. 


A “TERRIBLE CHILD!” 265 

“Toddie, you can’t wear gloves such hot 
days as these,” said I. 

A look of inquiry was speedily followed 
by Toddie’s own unmistakable preparations 
for weeping; and as I did not want his eyes 
dimmed when his mother looked into them, 
I hastily exclaimed: 

“Put them on, then — put on the mantle 
of rude Boreas, if you choose; but don’t 
go to crying.” 

“Don’t want no mantle-o’-wude-bawyus- 
ses,” declared Toddie, following me pho- 
netically, “wantsh my own pitty cozhesh, 
an’ nobody eshesh.” 

“Oh, Uncle Harry!” exclaimed Budge, “I 
want to bring mamma home in my goat-car- 
riage !” 

“The goat isn’t strong enough, Budge, to 
draw mamma and you.” 

“Well, then, let me drive down to the 
station, just to show papa an’ mamma I’ve 
got a goat-carriage. I’m sure mamma 
would be very unhappy when she found out 
I had one, and she hadn’t seen it first thing.” 


266 


HELEN’S BABIES 


“Well, I think you may follow me down, 
Budge; but you must drive very carefully.” 
“Oh, yes — I wouldn’t get us hurt when 
mamma was coming, for anything” 

“Now, boys,” said I, “I want you to stay 
in the house and play this morning. If 
you go out of doors, you’ll get yourselves 
dirty.” 

“I think the sun’ll be disappointed if it 
don’t have us to look at,” suggested Budge. 

“Never mind,” said I, “the sun’s old 
enough to have learned to be patient.” 
Breakfast over, the boys moved reluctant- 
ly away to the play-room, whilst I inspected 
the house and grounds pretty closely, to 
see that everything should at least fail to 
do my management discredit. A crown 
given to Mike and another to Maggie were 
of material assistance in this work, so I felt 
free to adorn the parlours and Helen’s 
chamber with flowers. As I went into the 
latter room, I heard some one at the wash- 
stand, which was in an alcove, and on look- 
ing in I saw Toddie drinking the last of 


A “TERRIBLE CHILD!” 267 

the contents of a goblet which contained a 
dark-coloured mixture. 

“Fzhe tatin’ black medshin,” said Tod- 
die; “I likes black medshin awfoo muts.” 
“What do you make it of?” I asked, with 
some sympathy, and tracing parental influ- 
ence again. When Helen and I were chil- 
dren we spent hours in soaking liquorice in 
water and administering it as medicine. 

“Makesh it out of shoda mixture,” said 
Toddie. 

This was another medicine of our child- 
hood days, but one prepared according to 
physicians’ prescriptions, and not beneficial 
when taken ad libitum . As I took the vial 
— a two-ounce one — I asked: 

“H ow much did you take, Toddie?” 
“Took whole botto full — ’twas nysh,” 
said he. 

Suddenly the label caught my eye — it 
read PAREGORIC. In a second I had 
snatched a shawl, wrapped Toddie in it, 
tucked him under my arm, and was on my 
way to the barn. In a moment more I was 


268 


HELEN’S BABIES 


on one of the horses and galloping furi- 
ously to the village, with Toddie under one 
arm, his yellow curls streaming in the 
breeze. People came out and stared as 
they did at John Gilpin, while one old 
farmer whom I met turned his team about, 
whipped up furiously and followed me, 
shouting “Stop thief!” I afterwards learned 
that he took me to be one of the abductors 
of Charley Ross, with the lost child under 
my arm, and that visions of the 20,000 dol- 
lars reward floated before his eyes. In 
front of an apothecary’s I brought the 
horse suddenly upon his haunches, and 
dashed in, exclaiming: 

“Give this child a strong emetic — quick! 
He’s swallowed poison!” 

The apothecary hurried to his prescrip- 
tion-desk, while a motherly-looking Irish- 
woman, upon whom he had been waiting, 
exclaimed, “Holy Mither! I’ll run an’ fetch 
Father O’Kelley,” and hurried out. Mean- 
while Toddie, upon whom the medicine 
had not commenced to take effect, had 


A “TERRIBLE CHILD!” 269 

seized the apothecary’s cat by the tail, which 
operation resulted in a considerable vocal 
protest from that animal. 

The experiences of the next few mo- 
ments were more pronounced and revolu- 
tionary than pleasing to relate in detail. It 
is sufficient to say that Toddie’s weight was 
materially diminished, and that his com- 
plexion was temporarily pallid. Father 
O’Kelley arrived at a brisk run, and was 
honestly glad to find that his services were 
not required, although I assured him that 
if Roman Catholic baptism and a sprinkling 
of holy water would improve Toddie’s char- 
acter, I thought there was excuse for sev- 
eral applications. We rode quietly back to 
the house, and while I was asking Maggie 
to try to coax Toddie into taking a nap, I 
heard the patient remark to his brother: 
“Budgie, down to the village I was a 
whay-al. I didn’t froe up Djonah, but I 
froed up a whole floor full of uvver fings.” 
During the hour which passed before it 
was time to start for the station, my sole 


270 


HELEN’S BABIES 


attention was devoted to keeping the chil- 
dren from soiling their clothes; but my suc- 
cess was so little that I lost my temper en- 
tirely. First they insisted on playing on 
a part of the lawn which the sun had not 
yet reached. Then, while I had gone into 
the house for a match to light my cigar, 
Toddie had gone with his damp shoes into 
the middle of the road, where the dust was 
ankle deep. Then they got upon their hands 
and knees on the verandah and played bear. 
Each one wanted to pick a bouquet for his 
mother, and Toddie took the precaution to 
smell every flower he approached — an op- 
eration which caused him to get his nose 
covered with lily-pollen, so that he looked 
like a badly-used prize-fighter. In one of 
their spasms of inaction, Budge asked: 

“What makes some of the men in church 
have no hair on the tops of their heads, Un- 
cle Harry?” 

“Because,” said I, pausing long enough 
to shake Toddie for trying to get my watch 
out of my pocket, “because they have bad 



Copyright, 1921, by Frederick A. Stokes Company 


“THEY GOT UPON THEIR PIANOS AND KNEES ON THE 
VERANDAH AND PLAYED BEAR” 


— Page 2 Jo 



A “TERRIBLE CHILD!” 271 

little boys to bother them all the time, so 
their hair drops out.” 

“I fink my hairs is a-goin’ to drop out 
pitty soon, then,” remarked Toddie, with 
an injured air. 

“Harness the horses, Mike,” I shouted. 

“An’ the goat too,” added Budge. 

Five minutes later I was seated in the 
carriage, or rather in Tom’s double-seated 
open waggon. “Mike,” I shouted, “I for- 
got to tell Maggie to have some lunch ready 
for the folks when they got here — run, tell 
her, quick, won’t you? 1 ’ 

“Oye, oye, sur,” said Mike, and off he 
went. 

“Are you all ready, boys?” I asked. 

“In a minute,” said Budge; “soon as I 
settle this. Now,” he continued, getting 
into his seat, and taking the reins and 
whip, “go ahead.” 

“Wait a moment, Budge — put down that 
whip, and don’t touch the goat with it once 
on the way. I’m going to drive very slowly 


272 


HELEN’S BABIES 


— there’s plenty of time, and all you need 
to do is to hold your reins.” 

“All right,” said Budge, “but I like to 
look like mans when I drive.” 

“You may do that when somebody can 
run beside you. Now!” 

The horses started at a gentle trot, and 
the goat followed very closely. When 
within a minute of the station, however, the 
train swept in. I had intended to be on the 
platform to meet Tom and Helen, but my 
watch was evidently slow. I gave the horses 
the whip, looked behind, and saw the boys 
were close upon me, and I was so near the 
platform when I turned my head that noth- 
ing but the sharpest of turns saved me from 
a severe accident. The noble animals saw 
the danger as quickly as I did, however, 
and turned in marvellously small space; 
as they did so, I heard two hard thumps 
upon the wooden wall of the little station, 
heard also two frightful howls, saw both 
my nephews considerably mixed up on the 


A “TERRIBLE CHILD!” 273 

platform, while the driver of the Bloom 
Park stage growled in my ear: 

“What in the world did you let ’em hitch 
that goat to your axle-tree for?” 

I looked, and saw the man spoke with 
just cause. How the goat’s head and shoul- 
ders had maintained their normal connec- 
tion during the last minute of my drive, I 
leave for naturalists to explain. I had no 
time to meditate on the matter just then, for 
the train had stopped. Fortunately the chil- 
dren had fallen on their heads, and the 
Lawrence-Burton skull is a marvel of so- 
lidity. I set them upon their feet, brushed 
them down with my hands, promised them 
all the candy they could eat for a week, 
wiped their eyes, and hurried them to the 
other side of the station. Budge rushed at 
Tom, exclaiming: 

“See my goat, papa!” 

Helen opened her arms, and Toddie 
threw himself into them, sobbing: 

“Mam — ma! Shing ‘Toddie one-boy- 
day!’ ” 


274 


HELEN’S BABIES 


How uncomfortable a man can feel in 
the society of a dearly-loved sister, and an 
incomparable brother-in-law, I never im- 
agined until that short drive. Helen was 
somewhat concerned about the children, but 
she found time to look at me with so much 
of sympathy, humour, affection, and con- 
descension, that I really felt relieved when 
we reached the house. I hastily retired to 
my own room, but before I had shut the 
door Helen was with me, and her arms were 
about my neck; and before the dear old girl 
removed them we had grown far nearer to 
each other than we had ever been before. 

And how gloriously the rest of the day 
passed off. We had a delightful little lunch, 
and Tom brought up a bottle of Roederer, 
and Helen didn’t remonstrate when he in- 
sisted on its being drunk from her finest 
glasses, and there were toasts drunk to 
“Her 1 ’ and “Her Mother,” and to the Bene- 
dick that was to be. And then Helen pro- 
posed “the makers of the match — Budge 
and Toddie!” which was honoured with 


A “TERRIBLE CHILD!” 


275 


bumpers. The gentlemen toasted did not 
respond, but they stared so curiously that 
I sprang from my chair and kissed them 
soundly, upon which Tom and Helen ex- 
changed significant glances. 

Then Helen walked down to Mrs. Clark- 
son’s boarding-house, all for the purpose of 
showing a lady there, with a skirt to turn, 
just how she had seen a similar garment re- 
arranged exquisitely. And Alice strolled 
down to the gate with her to say good-bye; 
and they had so much to talk about that 
Helen walked Alice nearly to our house, 
and then insisted on her coming the rest of 
the way so she might be driven home. 

And then Mike was sent back with a note 
to say to Mrs. Mayton that her daughter 
had been prevailed upon to stay to dinner, 
but would be sent home under capable es- 
cort. And after dinner was over and the 
children put to bed, Tom groaned that he 
must attend a meeting of the local Board 
of Works, and Helen begged us to excuse 
her just a minute while she ran into the doc- 


HELEN’S BABIES 


276 

tor’s to ask how poor Mrs. Brown had been 
doing, and she consumed three hours and 
twenty-five minutes in asking; bless her 
sympathetic soul. 

The dreaded ending of my holidays did 
not cause me as many pangs as I had expect- 
ed. Helen wanted to know one evening why 
if her poor, dear Tom could go backwards 
and forwards to the city to business every 
day, her lazy big brother couldn’t go back- 
wards and forwards to Hillcrest daily, if she 
were to want him as a guest for the re- 
mainder of the season. Although I had for 
years inveighed against the folly of culti- 
vated people leaving the city to find resi- 
dences, Helen’s argument was unanswer- 
able, and I submitted. I did even more; I 
purchased a lovely bit of ground (though 
the deed stands in Tom’s name for the pres- 
ent) , and Tom has brought up several plans 
of cottage-houses, and every evening they 
are spread on the dining-room table, and 
there gather round them four people, among 


A “TERRIBLE CHILD!” 


277 


whom are a pushing man of business, and 
a young lady with the brightest of eyes, and 
cheeks full of roses and lilies. This latter- 
named personage has her own opinions of 
the merits of all plans suggested, and in- 
sisted that whatever plan is adopted must 
have a lovely room to be set apart as the 
exclusive property of Helen’s boys. Young 
as these gentlemen are, I find frequent oc- 
casions to be frightfully jealous of them, but 
they are unmoved by either my frowns or 
persuasions — artifice alone is able to prevent 
their monopolizing the time of an adorable 
being of whose society I cannot possibly 
have too much. She insists that when the 
ceremony takes place in December, they 
shall officiate as groomsmen, and I have not 
the slightest doubt that she will carry her 
point. In fact, I confess to frequent af- 
fectionate advances towards them myself, 
and when I retire without first seeking their 
room and putting a grateful kiss upon their 
unconscious lips, my conscience upbraids 


278 HELEN’S BABIES 

me with base ingratitude. To think I might 
yet be a hopeless bachelor had it not been 
for them, is to overflow with thankfulness 
to the Giver of Helen’s Babies. 




















